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AMERICAN 

COMMON-SCHOOL READER 

AND ., 

SPEAKER: liS^ 

BEING A *■ 

SELECTION OF PIECES IN PROSE AND VERSE, 

WITH 

RULES FOR READING AND SPEAKITm;^-. 




BY 

JOHN GOLDSBURY, A.M., 

COMPILER OP THK 'COMMON SCHOOL GRAMMAR,' AND ' SEftOEL,' AND TEACHER, OP 
THE HIGH SCHOOL, CAMBRIDGEPORT, MASS., 



WILLIAM RUSSELL, 

AUTHOR OP 'lessons IN ENUNCIATION,' 'THE AMERICAN ELOCUTIONIST,' 'PRIMARY 

READER,' ETC., AND TEACHER OF ELOCUTION IN THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY, 

AND PHILLIPS AND ABBOT ACADEMIES, ANDOVER, MASS., AND AT 

THE THEOLOGICAL INSTITUTE, EAST WINDSOR, CONN. 



a 



BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES TAPPAN, 

114 W/sHiNGTON Street. 

18 4 4. 



OV' Y 



^^% 



X\ ^s\ 









Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, 

By JOHN GOLDSBURY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 



^>or© Sierei) typed bv 

^$8S^§ GEORGK A. CURTIS, 

^&'© ^'^'^ ENGLAND TYPE A.N1; STEREOTTPE yOnNDHY. 




JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, 

@ M ^ nil If li 

IS, 

WITH HIS PERMISSION, 

RESPECTFULLY 



DEDICATED. 



CONTENTS. 



" both Inflections in connexion. 36 

Rule on tlie Circumflex or Wave. . 3S 

" " Monotone. . . .39 

" " Harmonic Inflections. 39 

" " Repeated Words. . . 40 

Exercises on the Rising Inflection. . 40 

" " Falling Inflection. . 43 

" both Inflections in connexion. 51 

Just Stress,— Radical Stress. . . ■ &4 

Kxplosion,— Expulsion, — Median 

Stress, — Effusion 5.^5 

Suppression, — Vanishing Stress. . 56 

Compound Stress 56 

Thorough Stress, — Intermitted Stress, 

or Tremor .57 

Expressive Tones 58 

Key to the Notation of Expressive 

Tone 59 

Rules on Expressive Tone. . . .60 
Appropriate Modtilation. . . -72 



I 



Preface Page 9 

Part i. Rules of Elocution.— Analysis 

of the Voice 13 

Quality of the Voice.— Roundness. . 14 

Smoothness 15 

Versatility 17 

True Pitch . 18 

Due Loudness 19 

' Moderate ' Force, ' Declamatory ' 
Force, ' Empassioned ' Force. . . 20 

Distinct Articulation 21 

Correct Pronunciation. . . . .22 

True Time 23 

Exercises on Time 24 

Appropriate Pauses 25 

Rules for Rhetorical Pauses. . . .26 
Right Emphasis.— Rules on Emphasis. 2S 
Correct Inflections 30 

Rules on the Rising Inflection. . . .32 
" " Falling Inflection. . .34 

Part It. Pieces for Practice in Reading and Declamation 75 

Less. 1. Reason and Speech J.Q.Adams. 75 

2. Cultivation of the Mind S. Reed. 76 

3. Physical Education Dr. Htimphrey. 78 

4. Self-Education D. A. White. 79 

5. True Eloquence Daniel Webster. 81 

6. Industry indispensable to the Orator. . . ... H. Ware, Jr. 82 

7. Genius Orville Dewey. 83 

8. Antiquity of Freedom. . . . . . . . . W. C. Bryant. 85 

9. Sunrise on the Hills H. W. Longfellow. 86 

10. The Christian Character E. Cooper. 87 

11. Advantages of a Popular Government Dr. Sharp. 89 

12. Reverence for Law J. Hopkinson. 90 

13. Birthplace of American Liberty Professor Stuart. 92 

14. Character of Washington W.Smyth.* 93 

15. Impressions from History G. C. Verplanck. 94 

16. The Genius of Death G. Croly. 96 

17. Tlie Deep , J. G. C. Brainard. 97 

18. Parallel between Pope and Dryden Johnson. 93 

19. The Puritans Macaulaij. 100 

20. Poetry Channing. 103 

21. Causes of War. . H. Binney. 105 

22. Foundation of National Character E. Everett. 105 

23. Success of the Gospel President Wayland. 107 

24. Power of the Soul R. H. Dana, Sen. lOS 

25. Hymn of Nature W. B. O. Peabody. 110 

26. Universal Decay Greenwood. Ill 

27. Eternity of God Id. 113 

28. Two Centuries from the Landing of the Pilgrims. . . . Crafts. 115 

29. The Upright Lawyer S. Greenleaf. 116 

30. Character of the present Age E.Everett. 117 

31. The Founders of Boston President Qctincy. 119 

32. Human Culture S. J May. 120 

3.3. Grecian and Roman Eloquence J. Q. Adams. 123 

34. Thanatopsis W. C. Bryant. 123 

35. Trust in God Wordsworth. 125 

36. Memory W. G. Clark. 127 

J • T^* "if"!?- °^ American authors, are distinguished by small CapiUls; those of Foreign authora by 
Italics, ay this arrangement, the necessity of a separate list of writers, is obviated. 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



Lesson. Pags. 

37. Old Ironsides O. W. Holmes. 128 

38. That Silent Moon. G. W. Doane. 129 

39. Evening on the St. Lawrence Prof. Siluman. 130 

40. America to England W. Allston. 131 

41. The American Eagle C. W. Thomson. 133 

42. The Last Evening before Eternity J, A. Hillhouse. 135 

43. Character of Jesus . S. C. Thacher. 136 

44. Woman . Miss C. E. Beecher. 1-38 

45. The Treadmill Song O. W. Holmes. 140} 

46. Darkness , . . • Byron. 141 j 

47. God Dtrzhavin. 14S 

48. Niagara Mrs. Sigourney. 1-: 

49. The United States G. Bancroft. 147 ; 

50. Wouter Van Twiller Washington Irving. 149 ■ 

51. Lnvocation of Mirth Milton. 151 

52. Marco Bozzaris. F. G. Halleck. 1.52 

53. Waterloo Byron. 154 

54. Prussian Battle Hymn. Korner. 15&^ 

55. Bernardo del Carpio Mrs. Hemans. 153 

56. William Kieft Washington Irving. 160 

57. Palmyra William Ware. 161 

58. Beauties of Nature Samuel G. Howe. 162 

59. An Interesting Adventure William J. Snelling. 163 

60. Thoughts on Politeness Geo. S. Hillard. 166 

61. Same Subject concluded Id. 167 

62. Cottage on the Swiss Alps Buckminster. 168 

63. Peter Stuyvesant Washington Irving. 169 

64. Ode on Art Charles Sprague. 171 

65. Robert Burns F. G. Halleck. 172 

66. The Future Life V/. C. Bryant. 174 

67. The Spirit of Poetry H. W. Longfellow. 175 

68. The Soldier's Widow N. P. Willis. 176 

69. The Sicilian Vespers J. G. Whittier. 177 

70. Mexican Mythology Wm. H. Prescott. 178 

71. Origin and Prosrress of Language Samuel G. Howe. 180 

72. Zenobia's Ambition. . William Ware. 181 

7.3. Trials of the Poet and the Scholar Geo. S. Hillard. 183 

74. The Yankees Samuel Kettel. 184 

75. Custom of Whitewashing Francis Hopkinson. 185 

76. Same Subject continued. Id. 187 

■ 77. Same Subject concluded , Id. 188 

78. The Force of Curiosity Charles Sprague. 191 

79. The Winds W. C. Bryant. 193 

80. Daybreak Richard H. Dana, Sen. 194 

81. The Light of Home Mrs. S. J. Hale. 196 

82. A Psalm of Life H. W. Longfellow. 197 

83. To the Condor E. F. Ellet. 198 

84. A Child carried away by an Eagle Professor Wilson. 199 

85. Same Subject concluded • . Id. 201 

86. Scene at the Dedication of a Heathen Temple. . . William Ware. 204 

87. Same Subject continued Id. 205 

88. Same Subject concluded. . ' • Id. 206 

89. Hamilton and Jay Dr. Hawks. 207 

90. Adams and Jefferson Daniel Webster. 209 

91. The Destiny of our Republic G. S. Hillard. 211 

92. Posthumous Influence of the Wise and Good. . . Andrews Norton. 212 

93. Look Aloft J. Lawrence, Jr. 213 

94. Ode on War Wm. H. Burleigh. 214 

95. The Last Days of Autumn Henry Pickering. 215 

96. Man N. Y. Evening Post. 216 

97. Passage down the Ohio. . James K. Paulding. 217 

98. Spirit of Beauty . . RuFUS Dawes. 218 

' 99. Education of Females . Joseph Story. 219 

100. The Voices of the Dead , Orville Dewey. 221 

101. The Jewish Revelation Dr. Noyes. 221 

102. Incitements to American Intellect . G. S. Hillard. 222 

103. Importance of Knowledge to the Mechanic. . . . G. B. Emerson. 224 

104. Macer preaching on the steps of the Capitol al Rome. William Ware. 226 

105. Death a sublime and universal Moralist Jared Sparks. 228 

106. Reform in Morals Dr Beecher. 229 



CONTENTS. Vn 

Lesson. Page. 

107. The Child of the Tomb Wm. B. Tappan. 230 

108. Love and Fame H. T. Tuckerman. 232 

109. Lamentation of Rebecca the Jewess G. Lunt. 234 

110. Two Hundred Years Aeo Grenville Mellen. 235 

111. The Stage. . . T Charles Sprague. 237 

112. The Bu rial-Place at Laurel Hill. . . . , . . W. G. Clark. 238 

113. The Good Wife George W. Burnap. 239 

114. A Good Daughter J. G. Palfrey. 240 

115. Religion the Guardian of the Soul Orville Dewey. 241 

116. Features of American Scenery Wm. Tudor. 242 

117. Study of Human Nature essential to a Teacher. . . G. B. Emerson. 243 

118. Education Dr. Humphrey. 215 

119. Progress of Science Edward Everett. 246 

120. Purpose of the Bunker-Hill Monument Daniel Webster. 247 

121. The American Flag J. R. Drake. 24S 

122. Greece in 1820 . . J. G. Brooks. 250 

123. The Wild Boy Charles West Thomson. 252 

124. The Cure of Melancholy Carlos Wilcox. 253 

125. My Native Village. John H. Bryant. 254 

126. The Press Joseph T. Buckingham. 255 

127. Mount Auburn. ... • . . • . Nehemiah Adams. 256 
I2S. Trying to Please . Edward T. Channing. 257 

129. Defence of Charles Greenleaf. G. S. Hillard. 25S 

130. The Genius of Aristophanes C. C. Felton. 259 

131. Responsibility of Americans. . • .... E. S. Gannett. 261 

132. The Mocking Bird Alexander Wilson. 262 

1.33. The European and the American Nations. . . . Daniel Webster. 263 

134. The Times, the Manners, and the Men J. R- Lowell. 265 

135. Liberty to Athens James G. Pergival. 266 

136. The Arsenal at Springfield H. W. Longfellow. 267 

137. Immortality Richard H. Dana, Sen. 268 

138. The Gray Old Man of the Mountain Harry Hibbard. 270 

139. The Novel Reader Charles Sprague. 271 

140. Mountains of New Hampshire Isaac Hill. 271 

141. Local Associations Harrison Gray Otis. 274 

142. The Representative Anomjmovs. 275 

143. A Republican School-Room A. B. Muzzey. 279 

144. The English Skylark Samuel H. Stearns. 280 

145. The Invalid and the Politician Murphy. 2^2 

] 46. New England Freedom and Enterpi-ise Josiah Quincy. 2M 

147. Freedom and Progress Charles G. Atherton. 285 

148. Scene from Marino Faliero Byron. 287 

149. The Rich Man's Son, and the Poor Man's Son. . . . J. R. Lowell. 290 
1.50. New England's Dead Isaac M'Lellan, Jr. 291 

151. The Graves of the Patriots J. G. Percival. 293 

152. Truth H. W. Longfellow. 294 

1.53. Tlie First Settlers in New Ham.pshire N. A. Haven. 295 

154. Scrooge and Marley Charles Dickens. 293 

155. The Pilgrim Fathers of New England Rufus Choate. ,300 

156. The Settlers of Connecticut Chan. Kent. 302 

157. Benefits of Collegiate Education John Sergeant. 303 

1-58. Our Control over our Physical Well-being. . . . Horace Mann. 306 
1.59. The Insolvent and the Bankrupt J. M. Berrien. 307 

160. Extract from an Address delivered at Chapel Hill. . William Gaston. 311 

161. The Lyre Milton Ward. 312 

162. Polish War Song James G. Percival. 314 

163. Belshazzar G. Croly. 314 

164. Elijah's Interview Thomas Camphdl. 315 

165. Dame Nature's Charms Wm. C. Lodge. 316 

166. Night in Eden. . Mrs. E. H. Evans. 313 

167. The Present Age Daniel Webster. 319 

163. Melancholy Fate of the Indians Joseph Story. 320 

169. Edmund Burke A. H. Everett. 322 

170. National Self Respect . Beman. 323 

171. Internal Improvement J.C.Calhoun. 325 

172. Founders of our Government Wm. M. Richardson. .326 

173. Conduct of the Opposition Henry Clay. -327 

174. Effects of Protestantism Haven. 323 

175. Crescentius Miss Landon. 329 

176. Address to the Ocean, . ....... Barry Cornwall. 330 



Vlll 



CONTENTS. 



ii 



Lesson. Paob, 

177. The Ursa Major Henry Ware, Jr. 331 

178. The Fate of Tyranny Mason. 335 

179. The Downfall of Poland Thomas Campbell. 333 

180. Napoleon at Rest John Pierpont. 339 

181. Napoleon Bonaparte Channing. 340 

182. The Thunder Storm Washington Irving. 342 

183. Classical Learning- Joseph Story. 343 

184. The Bunker-Hill Monument Daniel Webster. 34-5 

185. Appealin Favor of the Union James Madison. 346 

186. France and England John C. Calhoun. 348 

187. Military Insubordination Henry Clay. 350 

188. Loss of National Character President Maxcy. 351 

189. Allegiance to the Law N. L. Frothingham. 352 

190. The Vision of Liberty Henry Ware, Jr. .354 

191. Shaicspeare Charles Sprague. 3.56 

192. Speech of Kienzi to the Romans Miss Mitford. 357 

193. Same Subject TIiottuis Moore. 359 

194. Gustavus Vasa to the Swedes • ... Brooke. 360 

195. A Field of Battle Shelley. 361 

196. Resistance to Oppression Patrick Henry. 362 

197. Duties of American Citizens Levi Woodbury. 364 

198. Political Corruption Geo. M'Duffie. 366 

199. Intelligence necessary to perpetuate Independence. . . Judge Dawes. 367 

200. South American Republics Daniel Webster. 368 

201. Excellence of the Holy Scriptures Beattie. 370 

202. Speech of Mr. Griffin against Cheetham. ........ 370 

20-3. Sir Anthony Absolute and Captain Absolute Sheridan. 372 

204. Antony's Address to the Roman Populace Shakspeare. 375 

205. The Victor Angels Milton. 377 

206. Impressment of American Seamen Henry Clay. 378 

207. " New Enafland, what is she ? " Tristam Burges. 379 

208. Party Spirit William Gaston. 381 

209. Restless Spirit of Man Wilbur Fisk. 333 

210. Rectitude of Character William Wirt. 385 

211. Washington Daniel Webster. 386 

212. Public Faith Fisher Ames. 388 

213. Free Institutions favorable to Literature. . . . Edward Everett. 390 

214. The Study of Elocution necessary for a Preacher. . . . Prof. Park. 391 

215. Relief of Revolutionary Officers Martin Van Bdren. 393 

216. Rapacity and Barbarity of a British Soldiery. . . Wm. Livingston. 394 

217. Free Navigation of the Mississippi. . . . Gol-\'erneur Morris. 395 

218. Our Duties to our Country Daniel Webster. 397 

219. England and the United States E. Everett. 399 

220. Massachusetts and New York Gov. Seward. 402 

221. The Bible Thos. S. Grimke. 404 

222. Fate of Montezuma Wm. H. Prescott. 405 

223. Scenery about Hassen Cleaver Hills John A. Clark. 407 

224. The Treasure that Waxeth not Old D. Huntington. 409 

225. The Young Mariner's Dream. ... .... Dimond. 410 

226. Gustavus Vasa and Cristiern Brooke. 411 

227. Tamerlane and Bajazet Rows. 414 

228. An Independent Judiciary James A. Bayard. 417 

229. Memorials of AVashington and Franklin. .... J. Q. Adams. 419 
2.30. Dialogue from Henry IV Shakspeare. 421 

231. The Love of Truth George Putnam. 424 

232. Energy of the Will Thomas C. Upham. 425 

233. The Scholar's Mission. ....... George Putnam. 427 



PREFACE. 

The design of this work is, to furnish a text-book for the systematic 
teaching of reading and declamation. Of the reading books already in 
general use, some, though possessed of high literary merit, afford no aid 
to instruction in elocution ; while others offer but a few desultory re- 
marks, and disconnected rules, which do not insure either an adequate 
knowledge of principles, or a regular progress in the art of reading. 

These defects in existing compilations, are, to teachers generally, the 
grounds of just objection and complaint ; and the compilers of the pres- 
ent work have been repeatedly solicited to prepare a volume such as is 
now offered. Speaking with reference to a work of this nature, the late 
Rev. Dr. Porter, of Andover Theological Seminary, in his ' Analysis of 
Rhetorical Delivery,' says, " The man who shall prepare a schoolbook, 
containing proper lessons for the management of the voice, will prob- 
ably do a greater service to the interests of elocution, than has yet been 
done by the most elaborate works on the subject, in the English lan- 
guage." And, in a note appended to this passage, " Since this remark 
■was made in my pamphlet on Inflections, several small works, well 
adapted to the purpose above mentioned, have been published ; and one 
is now in press, entitled. Lessons in Declamation, by Mr. Russell, of 
Boston, concerning the utility of which, high expectations are justified 
by the skill of the author, as a teacher of elocution."* 

To some persons, the 'Rhetorical Reader,' founded on Dr. Porter's 
' Analysis,' may seem to occupy the ground claimed for the present pub- 
lication. The compilers would offer, in explanation, not merely their 
own impressions, but the express objections made by many teachers, 
when requesting the aid of a book more exactly adapted to the wants 
felt in actual instruction. The Rhetorical Reader contains, it is admit- 
ted, many excellent suggestions on elocution, and many pieces of emi- 
nent merit as to their matter. But the marlring of inflections, in partic- 
ular, contravenes, in many parts of that book, the rules and principles 

* The publication of the book mentioned above, of which the late Dr. Porter had seen 
the proofs of the first half of the volume, was unavoidably suspended, in consequence of 

change of business, on the part of the publishers who had undertaken it. But the 
eubstance of that work is embodied in Part I. of this Reader. 



X PREFACE. 

;| of the work itself, and is wholly at variance with appropriate style in 

reading. The pieces are, to a great extent, of a character better suited 
to adults and professional readers, than to young persons at school ; 
and the style of language, in some, is equally negligent and incorrect. 

A single word of explanation, perhaps, is due, in relation to the ap- 
parent coincidence of plan and rule, in some parts of the present work, 
with those of the ' Rhetorical Reader.' The ^ Analysis,' on which the 
i I ' Rhetorical Reader,' was founded, was compiled, to a considerable ex- 

j i tent, as regards rules and examples, from materials handed, for that 

'[ Ij purpose, to the Rev. Dr. Porter, by one of the editors of the present vol- 

I! ume ; and the latter's mode of teaching, as an elocutionist, being, of 

f jj course, modified by the principles embodied m these materials, a man- 

j' i ual of instruction, if prepared by him, must necessarily produce a par- 

! jl tial resemblance of method to that of a work partly constructed on the 

I same data. 

Ij The compilers of the following work, have drawn, it will be per- 

;;; ceived, to a considerable extent, from that invaluable source of instruc- 

lA tion in elo'cution, the Philosophy of the Human Voice, by Dr. James 

Rush, of Philadelphia. The clearness of exposition, and the precision 
of terms, in that admirable work, have greatly facilitated, as well as 
I clearly defined, the processes of practical teaching, in whatever regards 

ji the discipline of the organs of speech, or the functions of the voice, in 

l|: utterance and articulation, in emphasis, inflection, modulation, and 

i|| every other constituent of elocution. 

I 

lu The pieces for practice in reading and speaking, which form the 

larger portion of this volume, have been selected with great care, as re- 
gards their character, not only in relation to the purposes of practice in 
reading, but with reference to the influence of a high standard of 
excellence, — both in subject and style, — on the mind and taste of 
young readers. Regard, also, has constantly been paid to the efiect 
which the pieces seemed adapted to produce, as favoring the cultivation 
of elevated sentiment, and of practical virtue. 

The preparation of the pieces for the purpose of applying the rules of 
elocution, has been regulated by a regard to the importance of placing 
before the reader, but one principle or rule at a time, of presenting it 
clearly, and of repeating it with sufficient frequency to fix it firmly on 
the mind. The marking by which the modifications of the voice are 
indicated, is, accordingly, restricted, principally, to one subject in each j 
so as to avoid confusion, and to secure a full and lasting impression of 
each rule or principle. In modulation and expression, however, where 
there exists a natural complexity in the subject itself, the marking is, of 
; course, more intricate. Still, it will be found, we trust, clear and defi- 



PREFACE. XI 

nite. The suggestive notation has been limited to such a number of 
pieces, as seemed requisite to fix the prominent principles of elocution, 
permanently in the memory. But most of the lessons have been left 
unmarked, in order to have the reader exert his own judgment in apply- 
ing the rules, with the aid, when necessary, of the teacher. 

The propriety and the advantage of any system of notation, for the 
purposes of study in elocution, have been, by some writers, considered 
doubtful. On this subject, Dr. Porter has made the following just ob- 
servations : / 

" If there could at once spnng up in our country a supply of teachers, 
competent, as living models, to regulate the tones of boys, in the form- 
ing age, — nothing more would be needed. But, to a great extent, 
these teachers are to be themselves formed. And to produce the trans- 
formation which the case demands, some attempt seems necessary to go 
to the root of the evil, by incorporating the principles of spoken lan- 
guage with the written. Not that such a change should be attempted 
with regard to books generally ; but in books of elocution, designed for 
this single purpose, visible marks may be employed, sufficient to desig- 
nate the chief points of established correspondence between sentiment 
and voice. These principles being well settled in the mind of the pupil, 
may be spontaneously applied, where no such marks are used." 

Objections are made by some authors, — whose judgment and taste, 
on other subjects, are unquestionable, — not only to any system of no- 
tation indicating the modifications of voice which characterize appropri- 
ate reading, but to any systematic instruction in the rules and principles 
of elocution themselves. 

Persons, even, who admit the use of rules on other subjects, contend, 
that, in reading and speaking, no rules are necessary j that a correct 
ear is a sufficient guide, and the only safe one. If, by a ' correct ear,' be 
meant a vague exercise of feeling or of taste, unfounded on a principle, 
the guidance will prove to be that of conjecture, fancy, or whim. But 
if, by a ' correct ear,' be meant an intuitive exercise of judgment or of 
taste, consciously or unconsciously recognizing a principle, then is there 
virtually implied a latent rule ; and the instructor's express office, is, to 
aid his pupil in detecting, applying, and retaining that rule. 

Systematic rules are not arbitrary ; they are founded on observation 
and experience. No one who is not ignorant of their meaning and ap- 
phcation, will object to them, merely because they are systematic, well 
defined, and easily understood : every reflective student of any art, pre- 
fers systematic knowledge to conjectural judgment, and seizes with 
avidity on a principle, because he knows that it involves those rules 
which are the guides of practice. 



Xll PREFACE. 

""When a skilful teacher," says Dr. Porter, ''has read to his pupils a 
sentence for their imitation, is there any reason why he should have read 
it as he did? — or why he or they should read it again in the same 
manner ? Can that reason be made intelligible ? Doubtless it may, if 
it is founded on any stated law. The pupils, then, need not rest in a 
servile imitation of their teacher's manner, but are entitled to ask why 
his emphasis, or inflection, or cadence, was so, and not otherwise : and 
then they may be able to transfer the same principles to other cases." 
[ " Should some still doubt whether any theory of vocal inflections can 

be adopted, which will not be perplexing, and, on the whole, injurious, 
especially to the young, I answer, that the same doubt may as well be 
extended to every department of practical knowledge. To think of the 
rules of syntax, every sentence we speak, or of the rules of orthogra- 
phy and style, every time we take up our pen to write, would indeed be 
perplexing. The remedy prescribed by common sense, in all such cases, 
is, not to discard correct theories, but to make them so famiUar as to 
govern our practice spontaneously, and without reflection." 

J. G. 

W.B. 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL READER AND 
SPEAKER. 



PART I.— RULES OF ELOCUTION. 



ANALYSIS OF THE VOICE. 

The chief distinctions of the voice, as they are presented in the 
science of music, are comprehended under the heads of ' Rhythm', 
including all the modifications of voice produced by ' time', ' mea- 
sure', and 'movement'; — 'Dynamics', comprising the various ap- 
plications and degrees of 'volume', or 'quantity', 'loudness', and 
'force';' — 'Melody', including 'pitch', 'intonation', or change of 
' note', in ascending or descending the musical scale, and ' modula- 
tion', or change of key' ; — ' Quality', designating the voice as ' bary- 
tone', or grave ; 'soprano', or high; 'tenor', or medium; 'pure', 
or clear and smooth ; ' impure', or the reverse of the last. 

The classification of vocal properties, as exhibited in elocution, 
according to the system developed in Dr. Rush's ' Philosophy of the 
Voice', comprises, — 'Quality', 'Force', 'Pitch', and 'Time', — all 
used in the same general references, as in music, — and ' Abrupt- 
ness', — a property of voice M^hich is exhibited in the sudden and 
instantaneous explosion of forcible sound, as in the tone of violent 
anger. This quality is properly but one of the modifications of 
' force'. 

"^ The analysis of the voice, for the purposes of instruction 
and practice in reading and declamation, may be extended, in 
detail, to the following points, which form the essential prop- 
erties of good style, in reading and speaking. 

L Good ' Quality ' of Voice; 6. Appropriate Pauses; 

2. Due 'Quantity', or Loud- - - - - 

ness; 

3. Distinct Articulation; 

4. Correct Pronunciation ; 

5. True Time ; 



7. Right Emphasis ; 

8. Correct 'Inflections'; 

9. Just ' Stress'; 

10. ' Expressive Tones ' ; 

11. Appropriate 'Modulation.' 



* The larger type distinguishes those portions of Part I. which are 
most important to the le-^^ ., and which should be, in substance, im- 
pressed on the memory. 
2 



14 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 

^ I. QUALITY OF VOICE. 

The chief properties of a good voice, are, 

1. Roundness, 3. Versatility, 

2. Smoothness, 4. Right Pitch. 

1. Roundness. 

This property of voice is exemplified in that ringing ful- 
ness of tone, which belongs to the utterance of animated and 
earnest feeling, when unobstructed by false habit. It is natu- 
ral and habitual, in childhood ; it is exhibited in all good 
singing, and in the properly cultivated style of public reading 
and speaking. 

This mode of voice depends, 1. on a true position of the body, as 
preparatory to the easy and energetic use of the organs of speech ; 
2. on deep and tranquil respiration, (breathing,) which furnishes a 
full supply of breath, — the only means of creating a full vocal 
sound ; 3. on energetic expulsion of the breath, or sending it forci- 
bly up to the ' larynx', or upper part of the throat, by the action of 
the lower muscles of the trunk, — those, chiefly, which are situated 
in front, and below the ribs. 

The true position of the body, for the fdnction of speech, implies 
an attitude perfectly upright ; the head erect ; the shoulders held 
back and down ; the chest well expanded and projected. The cav- 
ity of the chest, being thus greatly enlarged, the lungs well supplied 
with air, and the lower and larger muscles of the trunk, acting pow- 
erfully, the voice seems, as it were, to ring clearly in the head, and 
resound fully in the chest, at the same moment. 

A full, deep, round, and ample sound, is thus imparted to the 
voice. This tone has been termed, by Dr. Rush, the ' orotund', or 
round tone. It belongs appropriately to public reading and speak- 
ing, as contrasted with familiar talking. One great cause of the 
feeble, stifled, thin, and imperfect voices, which are heard so often 
in reading and speaking, is the absence of that vigorous tone of 
healthful activity, which is indispensable, alike to the free and ef- 
fective play of the organs of speech, and to that vividness of feeling, 
which is the true inspiration of the voice. This want of healthy 
vigor and spirit, leads to stooping postures, a sunken chest, drooping 
head, and consequently, to suppressed and imperfect tone. Reading 
aloud becomes, in consequence of these faults, a fatiguing and ex- 
hausting labor, instead of an exhilarating and inspiring exertion. 

Practice, in the style of vehement declamation, is the best means 
of securing a round and full tone. — The following exercise should be 
repeatedly practised, with the attention closely directed to the man- 
agement of the organs, in the manner which has just been described, 
as producing the ' orotund', or resonant quality of voice. 



PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 15 

Exercise on the ' Orotund '. 

" Who is the man that, in addition to the disgraces and 
mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize, and associate to 
our arms, the tomahawk and scalping knife of the savage ? — 
to call into civilized alliance the wild and inhuman inhabitant 
of the woods ? — to delegate to the merciless Indian, the de- 
fence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of this 
barbarous war, against our brethren P — My lords, we are 
called upon as members of this house, as men, as Christians, 
to protest against such horrible barbarity ! — I solemnly call 
upon your lordships, and upon every order of men in the 
state, to stamp upon this infamous procedure the indelible 
stigma of the public abhorrence ! " 

2. Smoothness of Voice, or ^Purity' of Tone. 

Smoothness of voice, in reading and speaking, is the same 
quality which, in relation to vocal music, is termed ' purity ' 
of tone. 

This property of voice consists in maintaining an undisturbed, 
liquid stream of sound, resembling, to the ear, the effect produced 
on the eye, by the flow of a clear and perfectly transparent stream 
of water. It depends, like every other excellence of voice, on a 
free, upright, and unembarrassed attitude of the body,— the head 
erect, the chest expanded. It implies natural and tranquil respi- 
ration, (breathing;) — ^full and deep 'inspiration', (inhaling, or 
drawing in the breath ;) and gentle 'expiration', (giving forth the 
breath ;) a true, and firm, but moderate exercise of the ' larynx', (or 
upper part of the throat ; ) and a careful avoiding of every motion 
that produces a jarring, harsh, or grating sound. 

'Pure' tone is tree from, 1. the heavy and hollow note of the 
chest; — 2. the 'guttural', choked, stifled, or hard sound of the 
swollen and compressed throat ; — 3. the hoarse, husky, ' harsh', ' ree- 
dy', and grating, style, which comes from too forcible ' expiration', 
and too wide opening of the throat ; — 4. the nasal twang, which is 
caused by forcing the breath against the nasal passage, and, at the 
same time, partially closing it; — 5. the wiry, or false ring of the 
voice, which unites the guttural and the nasal tones ; — 6. the af- 
fected, mincing voice of the mouth, which is caused by not allowing 
the due proportion of breath to escape through the nose. The nat- 
ural, smooth, and pure tone of the voice, as exhibited in the vivid 
utterance natural to healthy childhood, to good vocal music, or to 
appropriate public speaking, avoids every effect arising from an un- 
due preponderance, or excess, in the action of the muscles of the 
chest, the throat, or any other organ, and, at the same time, secures 
all the good quaUties resulting from the just and well-proportioned 
exercise of each. A true and smooth utterance, derives resonance 



16 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I. 

from the chest, firmness from the throat, and clearness from the 
head and mouth. 

Without these qualities, it is impossible to give right effect to the 
beauty and grandeur of noble sentiments, whether expressed in 
prose or in verse. 

Childhood and youth are the favorable seasons for acquiring and 
fijxing, in permanent possession, the good qualities of agreeable and 
effective utterance. The teacher cannot exert too much vigilance, 
nor the pupil take too much pains, to avoid the encroachments of 
faulty habit, in this important requisite to a good elocution. 

The subjoined exercise should be frequently and attentively prac- 
tised, with a view to avoid every sound which mars the purity of 
the tone, or hinders a perfect smoothness of voice. 

Exercise in Smoothiiess and ^Purity' of Voice. 

" No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all 
The multitude of angels, with a shout. 
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet, 
As from blest voices uttering joy ; — heaven rung 
With jubilee, and loud hosannas filled 
The eternal regions ; — lowly reverent, 
Towards either throne they bow ; and to the ground, 
With solemn adoration, down they cast 
Their crowns, inwove with amaranth and gold. — 
Then crowned again, their golden harps they took, — 
Harps ever tuned, — that, glittering by their side, 
Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet 
Of charming symphony, they introduce 
Their sacred song, and waken raptures high." 

Note. The various passions and emotions of the soul, are, to a 
great extent, indicated by the ' quality ' of the voice. Thus, the 
malignant and all excessive emotions, as anger, hatred, revenge, fear, 
and horror, are remarkable for ' guttural quality', and strong ' aspi- 
ration', or * expiration', accompan}nng the vocal sound, and forming 

* impure ' tone; substituting a 'harsh', husky, aspirated utterance, 
for the 'orotund', or the 'pure' tone; while pathos, serenity, love, 
joy, courage, take a soft and smooth ' oral', or head tone, perfectly 
pure, or swelling into 'orotund'. Awe, solemnity, reverence, and 
melancholy, take a deep, 'pectoral' murmur; the voice resounding, 
as it were, in the cavity of the chest, but still keeping perfectly 
'pure' in tone, or expanding into full 'orotund'. — See Section on 

* Expressive Tones. ' 

Young persons cannot be too deeply impressed with the impor- 
tance of cultivating, early, a pure and smooth utterance. The ex- 
cessively deep ' pectoral ' tone sounds hollow and sepulchral ; the 

* guttural ' tone is coarse, and harsh, and grating to the ear ; the 
' nasal ' tone is ludicrous ; and the combination of ' guttural ' and 



I 



PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 17 

* nasal ' tone, is repulsive and extremely disagreeable. Some speak- 
ers, through excessive negligence, allow themselves to combine the 

* pectoral', ' guttural', and ' nasal ' tones, in one sound, — for which 
the word grunt is the only approximate designation that can be 
found. Affectation, or false taste, on the other hand, induces 
some speakers to assume an extra fine, or double-distilled, ' oral ' 
tone, which minces every word in the mouth, as if the breast had 
no part to perform in human utterance. 

The tones of serious, serene, cheerful, and kindly feeling, are 
nature's genuine standard of agreeable voice, as is evinced in the 
utterance of healthy and happy childhood. But prevalent neglect 
permits these to be lost in the habitual tones of boys and girls, men 
and women. Faithful teachers may be of much service to young 
persons, in this particular. 

3. Versatility, or Pliancy of Voice, 

Signifies that power of easy and instant adaptation, by which 
it takes on the appropriate utterance of every emotion which 
occurs in the reading or speaking of a piece characterized by 
varied feeling or intense passion. 

To acquire this invaluable property of voice, the most useful 
course of practice is the repeated reading or reciting of passages 
marked by striking contrasts of tone, as loud or soft, high or low, 
fast or slow. 

The following exercises should be repeated till the pupil can give 
them in succession, with perfect adaptation of voice in each case, 
and with instantaneous precision of eifect. 

Exercises for Versatility, or Pliancy of Voice : 

Very Loud. 
" And dar'st thou, then. 
To beard the lion in his den, — 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ? 
No ! by St. Bride of Bothwell, no !— 
Up, drawbridge, groom ! What ! warder, ho ! 
Let the portcullis fall ! " 

Very Soft. 
" I 've seen the moon climb the mountain's brow, 
I 've watched the mists o'er the river stealing, — 
But ne'er did I feel in my breast, till now, 
So deep, so calm, and so holy a feeling : — 
'T is soft as the thrill which memory throws 
Athwart the soul, in the hour of repose." 
2# 



18 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I, 

Very Low. 
" I had a dream, which was not all a dream, 
The bright sun was extinguished ; and the stars 
Did Avander darkling in the eternal space, 
Rayless, and pathless ; and the icy earth 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air." 

Very High. 
" I woke : — where was I ? — Do I see 
A human face look down on me ? 
And doth a roof above me close ? 
Do these limbs on a couch repose ? 
Is this a chamber where I lie ? 
And is it mortal, yon bright eye. 
That watches me with gentle glance ? " 

Very Slow. 

" Of old hast Thou laid the foundation of the earth ; and 

the heavens are the work of Thy hands. They shall perish, 

but Thou shalt endure ; yea, all of them shall wax old, like 

a garment ; as a vesture shalt Thou change them, and they 

Ij shall be changed : but Thou art the same ; and Thy years 

i 1 shall have no end." 

I, 

Very Quick. 

" I am the Rider of the wind, 
The Stirrer of the storm ! 
The hurricane I left behind 

Is yet with lightning warm ; — 
To speed to thee, o'er shore and sea 

I swept upon the blast." 



4. True Pitch of Voice. 

The proper pitch of the voice, when no peculiar emotion 
demands high or low notes, is, — for the purposes of ordinary 
reading or speaking, — a little below the habitual note of con- 
versation, for the person who reads or speaks. Public dis- 
course being usually on graver subjects and occasions, than 
i mere private communication, naturally and properly adopts 

this level. 

But, through mistake or inadvertency, we sometimes hear persons 
read and speak on too low a key for the easy and expressive use 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



l& 



of the voice, and, sometimes, on the other hand, on a key too high 
for convenient or agreeable utterance. 

The following sentences should be repeated till the note on which 
they are pitched is distinctly recognized, and perfectly remembered, 
so as to become a key to all similar passages. 



Exercise on Middle Pitch. 

" In every period of life, the acquisition of knowledge is 
one of the most pleasing employments of the human mind. 
But in youth, there are circumstances which make it produc- 
tive of higher enjoyment. It is then that every thing has 
the charm of novelty ; that curiosity and fancy are awake, 
and that the heart swells with the anticipations of future 
eminence and utility," 

Contrast this pitch with that of the pieces before quoted, as exam- 
ples of ' high' and ' low'. 



^ II. DUE QUANTITY, OR LOUDNESS. 

The second characteristic of good reading, is the use of 
that degree of loudness, force, ' volume', or ' quantity', of voice 
which enables those to whom we read or speak, to hear, 
without effort, every sound of the voice ; and which, at the 
same time, gives that degree of force which is best adapted 
to the utterance of the sentiments which are read or spoken. 

All undue loudness is a great annoyance to the ear, and an injury 
to the expression ; while a feeble and imperfect utterance fails of 
the main purposes of speech, by being partly or entirely inaudible, 
and consequently utterly unimpressive. 

The failure, as regards loudness, is usually made on passages of 
moderate force, which do not furnish an inspiring impulse of emo- 
tion, and which depend on the exercise of judgment and discrimina- 
tion, rather than of feeling. 

It is of great service, however, to progress in elocution, to possess 
the power of discriminating the various degrees of force which the 
utterance of sentiment requires. The extremes of very ' loud ' and 
very ' soft', required by peculiar emotions, have been exemplified in 
the exercise on ' versatility' of voice. 

There are three degrees of loudness, all of great impor- 
tance to the appropriate utterance of thought and feeling, 
required in the usual forms of composition. These are the 
following : ' moderate', ' forcible', and ' empassioned'. The 
first, the * moderate', occurs in the reading of plain narrative, 
descriptive, or didactic composition, addressed to the under- 



i\ 



20 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I. 

standing, rather than to the feelings : the second, the ' forci- 
ble', is exemplified in energetic declamation : the third, the 
' empassioned', occurs in the language of intense emotion, 
whether in the form of poetry or of prose. 

The teacher's watchful attention will be required, in superintend- 
ing the pupil's practice on the following examples, so as to enable 
him to detect, and fix definitely, in his ear, the exact degree of 
loudness appropriate to each passage. The exercises should be re- 
peated till they can be executed with perfect precision, so as to form 
a standard for all similar expression, in subsequent reading. 

Exercise in ^Moderate'' Force. 

" An author represents Adam as using the following lan- 
guage. ' I remember the moment when my existence com- 
menced : it was a moment replete with joy, amazement, and 
anxiety. I neither knew what I was, where I was, nor 
whence I came. I opened my eyes : what an increase of 
sensation ! The light, the celestial vault, the verdure of the 
earth, the transparency of the waters, gave animation to my 
spirits, and conveyed pleasures which exceed the powers of 
utterance.'" 

' Declamatory ' Force. 

" Advance, then, ye future generations ! We bid you wel- 
come to this pleasant land of the Fathers. We bid you 
welcome to the healthful skies, and the verdant fields of New 
England. We greet your accession to the great inheritance 
which we have enjoyed. We welcome you to the blessings 
of good government, and religious liberty. We welcome 
you to the treasures of science, and the delights of learning. 
We welcome you to the transcendant sweets of domestic life, 
to the happiness of kindred, and parents, and children. We 
welcome you to the immeasurable blessings of rational exist- 
ence, the immortal hope of Christianity, and the light of 
everlasting Truth ! " 

' Empassioned ' Force. 

" Shame ! shame ! that in such a proud moment of life. 
Worth ages of history, — when, had you but hurled 
One bolt at your bloody invader, that strife 

Between freemen and tyrants, had spread through the 
world, — 



PART I.| HEADER AND SPEAKER, 21 

That then, — ^Oh ! disgrace upon manhood !- — e'en then 
Yon should falter, — should cling to your pitiful breath, — 

Cower down into beasts, when you might have stood men, 
And prefer a slave's life, to a glorious death ! 

It is strange ! — it is dreadful ! — -Shout, Tyranny, shout 

Through your dungeons and palaces, ' Freedom is o'er ! '— 

If there lingers one spark of her fire, tread it out, 
And return to your empire of darkness, once more." 



§ III.— DISTINCT ARTICULATION, 

"^'Correct articulation is the most important exercise of the voice 
and of the organs of speech. A reader or. speaker, possessed of 
only a moderate voice, if he articulate correctly, v^ill be better un- 
derstood, and heard with greater pleasure, than one who vociferates.. 
The voice of the latter may, indeed, extend to a considerable dis- 
tance ; but the sound is dissipated in confusion : of the former voice 
not the smallest vibration is wasted, — every sound is perceived, at 
the utmost distance to which it reaches ; and hence it even pene- 
trates farther than one which is loud, but badly articulated. 

In just articulation, the words are not hurried over, nor 
precipitated syllable over syllable ; nor, as it were, melted to- 
gether into a mass of confusion : they are neither abridged, 
nor prolonged ; nor swallowed, nor forced, and, if I may so 
express myself, shot from the mouth ; they are not trailed 
nor drawled, nor let slip out carelessly, so as to drop unfin- 
ished. They are delivered out from the lips, as beautiful 
coins newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately im- 
pressed, perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, 
distinct, sharp, in due succession, and of due weight."^ 

This department of correct reading, belongs, properly, to the 
stage of elementary lessons. But as negligence in general habit, 
and remissness in early practice, are extensively the causes of an 
imperfect articulation, it may be of great service to young readers to 
review the elements of the language, in successive practical exer- 
cises, as embodied in a manual prepared by one of the editors of the 
present work. I For facility of practice in difficult combinations of 
letters and syllables, some of the exercises in Tower's ' Gradual 
Reader', will also be found very serviceable. The preliminary Ex- 

* Austin's ' Chironomia,' pp. 37, 38. 

t ' Russell's Lessons in Enunciation ; comprising a Course of Ele- 
mentary Exercises, and a statement of Common Errors in Articulation, 
with the Rules of Correct Usage in Pronouncing. Boston, Jenks & 
Palmer.' • 



22 



A3IERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I, 



ercises in Articulation and Pronunciation, prefixed to the volume 
prepared as an ' Introduction ' to the present work, are designed to 
serve the prarpoge of an extensive discipline in this department of 
elocution. A brief course, of a similar nature, but adapted to juve- 
nile readers, is contained in an elementary book compiled by one of 
the editors of this Reader.* 

A page or a paragraph of every reading lesson, should, previous 
to the regular exercise, be read backward, for the purpose of arrest- 
ing the attention, and securing every sound in every word. 

The design of the present volume, does not admit of detail, in the 
department of elocution now under consideration. The importance, 
however, of a perfectly distinct enunciation can never be impressed 
too deeply on the mind of the pupil. An exact articulation is more 
conducive than any degree of loudness, to facility of hearing and 
understanding. Young readers should be accustomed to pronounce 
every word, every syllable, and every letter, with accuracy, al- 
though without labored effort. The faults of skipping, slighting, 
mumbling ,• swallowing, or drawling the sounds of vowels or of con- 
sonants, are not only offensive to the ear, but subversive of meaning, 
as may be perceived in the practice of several of the fallovnng 
examples. 



I 



1. 
2. 

3. 

4. 

5. 
6. 

7. 
8. 
9. 



That IsLsts till night : that la^^ still ni^ht." 

He can debate on either side of the question : he can 

debate on Tieiiher side of the question." 
The steadfa^f 5^ranger in the foiests strayed." 
Who ever imagined such an ocean to exist ? — Who ever 

imagined such a notion to exist ? " 
His cry moved me : his crime moved me." 
He could pa?/ nobody : he could pam ?zobody." 
Tip the high. Aill he Aeaves a Auge round stone.'* 
Tho' oft the ear the open vowels lire." 
Heaven's ^rst star alike ye see." 



§ IV.— CORRECT PRONUNCIATION. 

That pronunciation is correct which is sanctioned by good 
usage, or custom. Good usage implies the habit of persons 
of good education, as regulated by the decisions of learning 
and taste, exemplified in standard dictionaries, — a style 
which is equally free from the errors of uneducated or neg- 
ligent custom, and the caprices of pedantry, — which falls in 

* 'Russell's Primary Reader : a Selection of easy Reading Lessons, 
with introductory Exercises in Articulation, for Young Children. Bcs- 
ton : Tappan & Dennet.' 



PART I.] READER AND f PEAKER. 23 

with the current of cultivated mind, and does not deviate 
into peculiarities, on the mere authority of individuals. 
Good taste in pronunciation, while it allows perfect freedom 
of choice, as to the mode of pronouncing words liable to 
variation in sound or accent, requires a compliance with 
every fixed point of sanctioned usage. 

The subject of pTommciation, like the preceding- one, — articula- 
tion, — ^belongs properly to the department of elementary instruc- 
tion.* But as this branch of elocution does not always receive its 
due share of seasonable attention, many errors in pronunciation are 
apt to occur in the exercise of reading, as performed by even the ad- 
vanced classes in schools. To avoid such errors, it will be found 
useful to discuss closely and minutely, the correct pronunciation of 
every word which, in any lesson, is Uable to be mispronounced. 
The standard of reference, in such cases, ought to be Walker's 
Dictionary, Worcester's edition of Johnson and Walker combined, 
or the same author's edition of Dr. Webster's Dictionary. 

All reading lessons should, if practicable, be read to the class, by 
the teacher, one day beforehand, so as to allow opportunity for care- 
ful and critical study, at home, previous to the exercise of reading, 
on the part of the pupils. Seasonable information will thus be ob- 
tained, and errors avoided, instead of being merely corrected after 
they have occurred, and when it is too late to secure good habit or 
avoid bad. 



§ V. TRUE TIME. 

Ey true time, in elocution, is meant, an utterance well- 
proportioned in sound and pause, and neither too fast nor 
too slow. We should never read so fast as to render our 
reading indistinct, nor so slow as to impair the vivacity, or 
prevent the full effect, of what is read. 

*^ Every thing tender, or solemn, plaintive, or grave, should be read 
with great moderation. Every thing humorous or sprightly, every 
thing witty or amusing, should be read in a brisk and lively manner. 
Narration should be generally equable and flowing • vehernence, 
firm and accelerated ; anger and joy rapid ; whereas dignity, author- 
ity, sublimity, reverence, and awe, should, along with deeper tone, 
assume a slower movemsnt. The movement should, in every in- 
stance, be adapted to the sense, a^nd free from all hurry, on the one 
hand, or drawling on the other." The pausing, too, should be 
carefully proportioned tc^ the, mpvement or rate of the voice ; and no 
change of movement from slow to fast, or the reverse, should take 
place in any clause, unless a change of emotion is implied in the 
language of the piece. 

* The subject of Pronunciation forms a large part of the Etementary- 
Ei?erdses contained in \h,e '■ Introductioni ^ to this Reader. 



24 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT I. 

Exercises on Time. 

The ' slowest ' and the ' qnickest ' rates of utterance, have been 
exemplified under the head of ' versatility ' of voice, and need not 
be repeated here. They occur in the extremes of grave and gay 
emotion. 

There are three important applications of ' time ' in con- 
nexion with ' rate', or ' movement', which frequently occur 
in the common forms of reading and speaking. These are 
the ' slow', the ' moderate', and the ' lively'. The first of 
these, the ' slow', is exhibited in the tones of mve, reverencej 
and solemnity, when these emotions are not so deep as to 
require the slowest movement of all : the second, the ' mod- 
erate', belongs to grave and serious expression, when not so 
deep as to require the ' slow ' movement ; it belongs, also, to 
all unempassioned communication, addressed to the under- 
standing, more than to the feelings ; and it is exemplified in 
the utterance of moderate, subdued, and chastened emotion : 
the third rate, the ' lively', is perhaps sufficiently indicated by 
its designation, as characterizing all animated, cheerful, and 
gay expression. 

All the exercises on 'time', should be repeated till they can be 
exemplified perfectly, and at once. Previous to practising the fol- 
lowing exercises, the pupil may be aided in forming distinct and 
w^ell-defined ideas of ' time', by turning back to the example under 
'versatility', marked as 'very slow', and repeating it, with close 
attention to its extreme slowness. He will observe that, in the re- 
peating of this example, the effect of ' time', or proportion of move- 
ment, is to cause a remarkable lengthening out of the sound of 
e\'ery accented vowel ; an extreme slowness in the succession of the 
sounds of all letters, syllables, and words ; and, along with all this» 
an unusual length in all the pauses. It is this adjustment of single 
and successive sounds and their intermissions, which properly con- 
stitutes the office of ' time ' in elocution : although the term is often 
indefinitely used rather as synonymous with the word ' movement', 
as applied in music. 

The ' slow ' movement differs from the * slowest', in not 
possessing the same extreme prolongation of sound in single 
vowels, or the same length of pause. The slow succession 
of sounds is, however, a common characteristic in both. 

A j! Example of ' Slow' Movement. 

" Thou, who did'st put to flight 
Primeval silence, when the morning stars, 
Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball ; 



PART l] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



25 



O Thou, whose word from solid darkness struck 
That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul ! " 

' Moderate'. 

" There is something nobly simple and pure in a taste for 
the cultivation of forest trees. It argues, I think, a sweet 
and generous nature, to have a strong relish for the beauties 
of vegetation, and a friendship for the hardy and glorious 
sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought, connect- 
ed with this part of rural economy. It is worthy of liberal, 
and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who plants an oak, 
looks forward to future ages, and plants for posterity. No- 
thing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit 
in its shade, and enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the 
idea that the acorn which he has buried in the earth, shall 
grow up into a lofty pile, and shall keep on flourishing, and 
increasing, and benefiting mankind, long after he shall have 
ceased to tread his paternal fields." 

' Lively '. 

" How does the water come down at Lodore ? 

Here it comes sparkling. 

And there it lies darkling ; 

Here smoking and frothing, 

Its tumult and wrath in. 
It hastens along, conflicting and strong, 

Now striking and raging. 

As if a war wao-inof. 
Its caverns and rocks among, — 

Swelling and flinging. 

Showering and springing, 

Eddying and whisking. 

Spouting and frisking. 

Turning and twisting 
Around and around, — 

Collecting, disjecting. 
With endless rebound." 



§ VI. APPROPRIATE PAUSES. 

The grammatical punctuation of sentences, by which they 
are divided into clauses by commas, although sufficiently dis-^ 
3 



26 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET L 

tinct for the purpose of separating the syntactical portions of 
the structure, are not adequate to the object of marking all 
the audible pauses, which sense and feeling require, in read- 
ing aloud. Hence we find, that intelligible and impressive 
reading depends on introducing many short pauses, not indi- 
cated by commas or other points, but essential to the meaning 
of phrases and sentences. These shorter pauses are, for dis- 
tinction's sake, termed ' rhetorical'. 

Powerful emotion not unfrequently suggests another spe- 
cies of pause, adapted to the utterance of deep feeling. This 
pause sometimes takes place where there is no grammatical 
point used, and sometimes is added to give length to a gram- 
matical pause. This pause may be termed the ' oratorical', 
or the pause of ' effect'. 

Note. The length of the rhetorical pause depends on the 
length of the clause, or the significance of the word which 
follows it. The full 'rhetorical pause' is marked thus II, 
the ' half rhetorical pause', thus [ , and the short ' rhetorical 
pause', thus ' . 

Rules for ' Rhetorical ' Pauses. 
The ' rhetorical ' pause takes place, as follows : 

Rule I. Before a verb, when the nominative is long, or when 
it is emphatic. — Ex. " Life II is short, and art It is long.'* 

Rule II. Before and after an intervening phrase. 

Ex. " Talents II without application H are no security for 
progress in learning." 

Rule III. Wherever transposition of phrases may take place. 
Ex. " Through dangers the most appalling II he advanced 
with heroic intrepidity." 

Rule IV. Before an adjective following its noun. 

Ex. " Hers was a soul II replete with every noble quality.'* 

Rule V. Before relative pronouns, prepositions, conjunctions, 
or adverbs used conjunctively, when followed by a clause 
depending on them. — Ex. " A physician was called in II 
who prescribed appropriate remedies." " The traveller be- 
gan his journey II in the highest spirits il and with the 
most delightful anticipations." 

Rule VI. Where ellipsis, or omission of words, takes place. 
— Ex. " To your elders manifest becoming deference, to 
your companions II franknes;?, to your juniors II condeseen- 
sion." 



^ 



I 



PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 27 

Rule VII. Before a verb in the infinitive mood, governed by 
another verb. — Ex. " The general now commanded his re- 
served force 11 to advance to the aid of the main body." 

Exercise on ' Rhetorical Pauses , 

*' Industry II is the guardian ' of innocence." 

" Honor II is the subject ' of my story." 

" The prodigal 11 lose many opportunities ' for doing good." 

" Prosperity 11 gains friends, adversity 11 tries them." 

*' Time 11 once passed II never returns." 

" He I that hath no rule * over his own spirit, is like a 
city ' that is broken down, and without walls." 

" Better ' is a dinner of herbs 11 where love | is, than a 
stalled ox ti and hatred | therewith". 

" The veil 11 which covers ' from our sight | the events ' 
of succeeding years, is a veil ^ woven by the hand of mercy." 

" Blessed 11 are the poor in spirit." 

" Silver ^ and gold 11 have I none." 

" Mirth II I consider ^ as an act, cheerfulness 11 as a habit ' 
of the mind. Mirth II is short ' and transient, cheerfulness II 
fixed ' and permanent. Mirth II is like a flash of lightning, 
that glitters ' for a moment : cheerfulness 11 keeps up a kind 
of daylight ' in the mind." 

" Some II place the bliss ' in action, some II in ease : 
Those II call it pleasure, and contentment II these." 

The habitual tendency of young readers being to hurry, in read- 
ing, their pauses are liable to become too short for distinctness, or to 
be entirely omitted. In most of the above examples, the precision, 
beauty, and force of the sentiment, depend much on the careful ob- 
servance of the rhetorical pauses. The teacher may impart an idea 
of their effect, by allowing each sentence to be read, first, without the 
rhetorical pauses, — secondly, with pauses made at wrong places,— 
thirdly, with the pausing as marked. 

Rule on the ' Oratorical ' Pause. 

The * oratorical ' pause is introduced in those passages 
which express the deepest and most solemn emotions, such 
as naturally arrest and overpower, rather than inspire, utter- 
ance. 

Examples. *' The sentence was — death ! " " There is one 
sure refuge for the oppressed, one sure resting-place for the 
weary, — the grave ! " 



28 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART I. 

§ VII. RIGHT EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis distinguishes the most significant or expressive 
words of a sentence. 

It properly includes several functions of voice, in addition to the 
element of force. An emphatic word is not unfrequently distin- 
guished by the peculiar ' time', ' pitch', ' stress', and ' inflection ' of 
its accented sound. But all these properties are partially merged, 
to the ear, in the great comparative force of the sound. Hence it is 
customary to regard emphasis as merely special force. This vievir 
of the subject would not be practically incorrect, if it were under- 
stood as conveying the idea of a special force superadded to all the 
other characteristics of tone and emotion, in the word to which it 
applies. 

Emphasis is either ' absolute ' or ' relative'. The former 
occurs in the utterance of a single thought or feeling, of great 
energy : the latter, in the correspondence or contrast of two 
or more ideas. 

' Absolute ' emphasis is either ' empassioned ' or ' distinct- 
ive'. The former expresses strong emotion. — Example, 
" False wizard, avaunt ! " ^ — The latter designates objects 
to the attention, or distinguishes them to the understanding. 
— Ex. " The fall of inan is the main subject of Milton's 
great poem." 

' Relative ' emphasis occurs in words which express com- 
parison, correspondence, or contrast. — Example, " Cowards 
die many times; the brave, but oncey 

Rules on Emphasis, 

Rule I. Exclamations and interjections usually require 

* empassioned ' emphasis, or the strongest force of utterance. 

Examples. " Wo ! to the traitor, WO ! " — " UP ! comrades, 

UP!"— "AWAKE! ARISE! or be for EVER fallen I » 

" Ye icefalls ! 

Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 

Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven, 

Beneath the keen full moon ? — 

* Three degrees of emphasis are usually thus denoted in tj^pe : the 
first, by Italic letters ; the second, by small capitals ; and the third, by 
large capitals. Thus, ''You shall DIE, base dog! and that before yon 
cloud has passed over the sun!^^ — Sometimes a fourth, by Italic cap- 
itals,— thus, '' Never, NEVER, NEVER ! » 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



29 



God ! GOD ! the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
Utter : the ice-plain bursts, and answers, God ! 
The silent snow-mass, loosening, thunders, GOD ! " 

Rule II. Every new incident in a narration, every new 
object in a description, and every new subject in a didactic 
passage, requires ' distinctive ' emphasis, or a force of utter- 
ance sufficient to render it striking or prominent. 

Examples. " Their frail bark was, in a moment, overset, 
and a watery grave seemed to be the inevitable doom of the 
whole party." — " The eye rested with delight on the long, 
low range of beautifully tinted clouds, which skirted the ho- 
rizon." — " The power ol faith was the subject of the preach- 
er's discourse," 

Rule III. All correspondent, and all antithetic, or con- 
trasted words, require a force sufficient to distinguish them 
from all the other words in a sentence, and to make them 
stand out prominently. When the comparison or contrast is 
of equal force, in its constituent parts, the emphasis is exactly 
balanced, in the words to which it is applied : when one of 
the objects compared or contrasted, is meant to preponderate 
over the other, the emphasis is stronger on the word by 
which the preponderance is expressed. 

Examples. " The gospel is preached equally to the rich 
and to the poor.'''' — " Custom is the plague of wise men, and 
the idol oi fools.''' — " The man is more knave than foolJ^ 



Exercises in ^Relative' Emphasis. 

1. " Virtue 1! is better than riches.^' 

2. " Study 11 not so much to shoio knowledge, as to acquire it." 

3. " They went out from us, but they were not of us." 

4. " He I that cannot bear a jest, should not make one." 

5. " It is not so easy to hide one's faults, as to mend them." 

6. " I I that denied thee gold, will give my heart. '^ 

7. " You have done that | you should be sorry for." 

8. " Why beholdest thou the mote II that is in thy brother^s 

eye, but considerest not the beam II that is in thine oivn eye ?" 

9. " As it is the part of justice II never to do violence ; so it 

is the part o( modesty II never to commit offence." 

10. " A friend II cannot be known II in prosperity ; and an 
enemy II cannot be hidden II in adversity.''^ 

3^ 



n 



i 



30 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I. 

Note. Emphatic clauses, (those in which every word is 
emphatic,) are sometimes pronounced on a lower, sometimes 
on a higher key, but always with an intense force. 

Examples. 

1. " Heaven and earth will witness, — 

If ' Rome ' must ' fall, — that ive W are innocent." 

2. " This state had then not one ship, — no, not • one ' 
WALL ! " 

3. " But youth, it seems, is not my only crime : I have 
been accused II of acting a theatrical part." 

4. " As to the present ministry, I cannot give them my con- 
fidence. Pardon me, gentlemen : Confidence is a plant of 
SLOW groivth." 

General Remark. Young readers are commonly deficient in em- 
phasis, and, hence, feeble and unimpressive, in their style of read- 
ing. Teachers should exert much vigilance on this point. At the 
same time, an overdone emphasis is one of the surest indications of 
defective judgment and bad taste. Faults which result from study 
are always the most offensive. 



^ VIII. — correct inflections. 

' Inflection' in elocution, signifies an upward or downward 
* slide ' of voice, from the average, or level of a sentence. 

There are two simple ' inflections', or * slides', — the upward 
or ' rising', and the downward or ' falling'. The former is 
usually marked by the acute accent, ['] — the latter, by the 
grave accent, [^]. 

The union of these two inflections, on the same syllable, is 
called the ' circumflex', or ' wave'. — When the circumflex 
commences with the falling inflection, and ends Avith the ris- 
ing, it is called the 'rising circumflex'-, — [marked thus v,] — 
when it begins with the rising, and ends with the falling, it is 
called the ' falling circumflex', — [marked thus, '^J. 

When the tone of the voice has no upward or downward 
slide, but keeps comparatively level, it is called the ' mono- 
tone', — [marked thus — ]. 

Examples : rising inflection, — ' Intensive', or high, up- 
ward slide, as in the tone of surprise, " Ha ! Is it possible ! " 
— in the usual tone of a question that may be answered by 
Yes or No, " Is it really so ? " — ' Moderate ' rising inflection, 
as at the end of a clause which leaves the sense dependent 
on what follows it. " If we are sincerely desirous of advanc- 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



31 



ing in knowledge, we sliall not be sparing of exertion." — 
* Slight ' rising inflection, as when the voice is suddenly and 
unexpectedly interrupted : " When the visitor entered the 
room " T^ ^ ^ ^ 

Note. The last mentioned inflection, may, for distinction's sake, 
be marked as above, to indicate the absence of any positive upward 
or downward slide, and, at the same time, to distinguish it from the 
intentional and prolonged level of the ' monotone.' 

'Falling' inflection, — ' intensive', or bold and low down- 
ward slide, as in the tone of anger and scorn : " Down, sooth- 
less insulter /" — The ' full', falling inflection, as in the cadence 
at a period : " All his efforts were in vain." 

The ' moderate ' falling inflection, as at the end of a clause 
which forms complete sense : " Do not presume on wealth ; it 
may be swept from you in a mom-ent." " The horses were 
harnessed; the carriages were driven up to the door; the 
party were seated ; and, in a few moments, the mansion was 
left- to its former silence and solitude." 

The ' suspensive', or slight falling inflection, as in the 
members of a ' series', or sequence of words and clauses, in 
the same syntactical connexion : " The f6rce, the size, the 
weight, of the ship, bore the schooner down below the waves." 
" The irresistible fArce, the vast size, the prodigious weight 
of the ship, rendered the destruction of the schooner in- 
evitable." 

The ' suspensive ' downward slide, is marked as above, to 
distinguish it from the deeper inflection at the end of a clause, 
or of a sentence. 



TABLE OF CONTRASTED INFLECTIONS. 



The Rising follmoed by the Falling.. 

1. " Will you go, or stay?" 

2. " Will you ride, or walk ? " 

3. " Did he travel for health, or for pleasure ?" 

4. " Does he pronounce correctly, or incorrectly ? " 

5. " Is it the rising, or the falling inflection ? " 

The Falling followed by the Rising. 

1. "I would rather go than stay." 

2. " I would rather walk than ride." 

3. " He travelled for health, not pleasure." 

4. " He pronounces correctly, not incorrectly." 

5. " It is the falling, not the rising, inflection." 



32 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I. 

EXAMPLES OP CIRCUMFLEX. 

Tone of Mockery. " I 've caught you, then, at last ! " 
Irony. " Courageous chief ! — the first in flight from pain !" 
Punning. " And though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat 
sheep. 
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep." 

EXAMPLE OF MONOTONE. 

Awe and Horror. 
" I could a tale unfold whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
And each particular hair to stand on end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine." 

Rules on the Rising Inflection. 

Rule I. The ' intensive' or high rising inflection, expresses 
surprise and ivonder. — Example. "Ha! laugh'st thou, Lo- 
chiel, my vision to scorn ? " 

Rule W. The 'moderate' rising inflection takes place, 
where the sense is incomplete, and depends on something 
which follows. — Ex. " As we cannot discern the shadow 
moving along the dial-plate, so we cannot always trace our 
progress in knowledge." 

Note. Words and phrases of address, as they are merely 
introductory expressions, take the ' moderate rising inflection.' 
— Example 1. " Friends, I come not here to talk." — 2. " Sir, 
I deny that the assertion is correct." — 3. " Soldiers, you fight 
for home and liberty ! " 

Exception. In emphatic and in lengthened phrases of ad- 
dress, the falling inflection takes place. — Example 1. " On ! 
ye brave, who rush to glory or the grave ! " — 2. " Soldiers ! 
if my standard falls, look for the plume upon your king''s hel- 
met V^ — 3. " My friends, my followers, and my children ! the 
field we have entered, is one from which there is no retreat." 
— 4. " Gentlemen and knights, — commoners and soldiers, 
Edward the Fourth upon his throne, will not profit by a vic- 
tory more than you." 

Rule III. The ' suspensive', or slight rising inflection, oc- 
curs, when expression is suddenly broken oflf, as in the fol- 
lowing passage in dialogue. 

* Shouting tone. 



^\^T I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 33 

Ex. Poet, " The poisoning dame — Friend. You mean — 
P. I don't. F. You do." 

Note. This inflection, prolonged, is used in the appropriate 
tone of reading verse, or of poetic prose, when not emphatic, 
instead of a distinct rising or falling inflection, which would 
have the ordinary effect of prosaic utterance, or would divest 
the expression of all its beauty. 

Ex. 1. " Here waters, woods, and winds in concert join." 

2. " And flocks, woods, streams around, repose and peace 

impart." 

3. " The wild brook babbling down the mountain's side ; 
The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; 

The pipe of early shepherd, dim descried 
In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide, 
The clamorous horn, along the cliffs above ; 
The hollow murmur of the ocean tide ; 
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,"^ 
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove." 

4. " White houses peep through the trees ; cattle stand 
cooling in the pool ; the casement of the farm-house is cov- 
ered with jessamine and honeysuckle;^ the stately green- 
house exhales the perfume of summer climates." 

Rule IV. A question which may be answered by Yes or 
iVb, usually ends with the rising inflection. — Example. " Do 
you see yon cloud ? " 

Exception. Emphasis, as in the tone of impatience, of ex- 
treme earnestness, or of remonstrance, may, in such cases as 
the above, take the falling inflection. — Example. " Cdn you 
be so infatuated as to pursue a course which you know will 
end in your ruin ! " — " Will you blindly rush on destruc- 
tion ? " — " Would you say so, if the case were your own ?" 

Rule V. The penultimate, or last inflection but one, is, in 
most sentences, a rising slide, by which the voice prepares for 
an easy and natural descent at the cadence. — Example. " The 
rocks crumble, the trees fall, the leaves fade, and the grass 
withers." 

Exception. Emphasis may sometimes make the penulti- 
mate inflection fall, instead of rising ; as the abruptness of 
that slide gives a more forcible effect. — Example. " They 
have rushed through like a hurricane ; like an army of 16- 

* The penultimate inflection of a sentence, or a stanza, usually rises, 
so as to prepare for an easy cadence. See Rule V. 



34 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I. 

cusls, they have devoured the earth ; the war has fallen like 
a vsrater spout, and deluged the land with blood." 

Rule^ on the Falling Injlection. 

Rule I. The ' intensive, downward slide', or * low', falling 
inflection, occurs in the emphasis of vehement emotio7i. — Ex- 
ample. " On ! ON ! to the just and the glorious strife ! " 

Rule II. The ' full ' falling inflection usually takes place at 
the cadence, or close, of a sentence. — Example. " No life is 
pleasing to God, but that which is useful to mankind." 

Exception. When the meaning expressed at the close of 
one sentence, is modified by the sense of the next, the voice 
may rise, instead of falling. — Examples. " We are not here 
to discuss this question. We are come to act upon it." — 
" Gentlemen may cry ' peace, peace ! ' But there is no 
peace." 

Rule III. The ' moderate ' falling inflection occurs at the 
end of a clause which fofms complete sense, independently 
of what follows it.— Example. " Law and order are forgot- 
ten : violence and rapine are abroad : the golden cords of 
society are loosed." 

Exception. Plaintive expression, and poetic style, whether 
in the form of verse or of prose, take the ' slight ' rising in- 
flection, in its prolonged form. 

Example 1. " Cold o'er his limbs the listless languor grew; 
Paleness came o'er his eye of placid blue ; 
Pale mourned the lily where the rose had died; 
And timid, trembling, came he to my side." 

2. " The oaks of the mountains fall : the mountains them- 
selves decay with years ; the ocean shrinks and grows again ; 
the moon herself is lost in heaven ;^ but thou art for ever 
the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course." 

Rule IV. The ' suspensive', or slight falling inflection, 
takes place in every member but one of the ' series', or suc- 
cessive words and clauses, connected by the same conjunction, 
expressed or understood. 

Note 1. A succession of words is termed a ' simple series', 
— a succession of clauses, a ' compound series.' A succes- 
sion of words which leave sense incomplete, is termed a 
'commencing series', that which leaves complete sense, a 
' concluding series'. — A ' commencing series ' is read with 

* Rising slide, for contrast to the following clause. 



I 



?ART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. ||5 

the ' suspensive', or slight falling inflection, on every member 
but the last ; a concluding series, with the * suspensive ' slide 
on every member, except the penultimate, or last but one. 

Examples. ' Simple Commencing Series' ; " The dir, the 
^arth, the water, teem with delighted existence." — ' Simple 
Concluding Series ': " Delighted existence teems in the ^ir, 
the earth,^ and the water."t — ' Compound Commencing Se- 
ries' : " The fluid expanse of the ^ir, the surface of the solid 
^arth, the liquid element of water, teem with delighted exist- 
ence." — ' Compound Concluding Series' : " Delighted exist- 
ence teems in the fluid expanse of the dir, the surface of the 
solid earth,^ and the liquid element of water."! 

Exception 1. Emphatic, abrupt, and disconnected series, 
may have the ' moderate ' or the ' bold ' downward slide, on 
every member, according to the intensity of expression. 

Examples: 1. "His success, his fame, his life, were all at 
stake." — -2. " The roaring of the wind, the rushing of the 
water, the darkness of the night, all conspired to overwhelm 
his guilty spirit with dread." — 3. " Eloquence is action, 
noble, sublime, g6dlike action." — 4. " The shore, which, but 
a few moments before, lay so lovely in its calm serenity, 
gilded with the beams of the level sun, now resounded with 
the roar of cannon, the shouts of battle, the clash of arms, 
the curses of hatred, the shrieks of agony." 

Exception 2. Light and humorous description, gives the 
' moderate ' upward slide to all the members of a series. 

Example. " Her books, her music, her papers, her clothes, 
were all lying about the room, in ' most admired disorder.' " 

Exception 3. The language of pathos, (pity,) tenderness, 
and beauty, — whether in verse or prose, — takes the ' suspen- 
sive', or slight rising inflection, except in the last member of 
the ' commencing', and the last but one of the ' concluding ' 
' series', which have the usual ' moderate ' rising inflection. 

Ex. : 1. " No mournful flowers, by weeping fondness laid, 

Nor pink, nor rose, drooped, on his breast displayed." 

2. " There rapt in gratitude, and joy, and love. 

The man of God will pass the Sabbath noon." 

3. " There, (in the grave,) vile insects consume the hand 

of the Artist, the brain of the philosopher, the eye which 

^ ' Penultimate ' rising inflection, preparatory to the cadence, or clos- 
ing fall of voice, at the end of a sentence. 

t 'Full' falling inflection, for the cadence of a sentence. 



36 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET I. 

sparkled with celestial fire, and the lip from which flowed 
irresistible eloquence." 

Note 2. All series, except the plaintive, — as by their form 
of numbers and repetition, they partake of the nature of ' cli- 
max', or increase of signification, — should be read with a 
growing intensity of voice, and a more prominent inflection 
on every member. 

Example. " The splendor of the firmament, the verdure of 
the earth, the varied colors of the flowers which fill the air 
with their fragrance, and the music of those artless voices 
which mingle on every tree ; all conspire to captivate our 
hearts, and to swell them with the most rapturous delight." 

This remark applies, sometimes, even to the rising inflec- 
tion, but, with peculiar force, to cases in which the language 
is obviously meant to swell progressively in eflfect, from word 
to word, or from clause to clause, and which end with a 
downward slide, on every member, as in the following in- 
stance. 

" I tell youJ;hough you, though all the world, though an 
angel from HEAVEN, should declare the truth of it, I could 
not believe it." 

Rule V. All questions which cannot be answered by Yes 
or JVo, end with the falling inflection. 

Ex. : 1. " When will you cease to trifle ?" 

2. " Where can his equal be found ?" 

3. " Who has the hardihood to maintain such an asser- 
tion ?" 

4. " Why come not on these victors proud ?" 

5. " What was the object of his ambition ?" 

6. " How can such a purpose be accomplished ?" 
Exception. The tone of real or aflected surprise, throws 

such questions, when repeated, into the form of the rising in- 
flection. — Example. " How can such a purpose be accom- 
plished ! — To the diligent all things are possible." 

Both injiections, — the Risi7ig and the Falling, — in connexion. 

Rule I. When negation is opposed to affirmation, the for- 
mer has the rising, the latter the falling inflection, in what- 
ever order they occur, and whether in the same or in different 
sentences. 

Examples: 1. " He did not call me, but you." 

2. " He was esteemed not for wealth, but for wisdom." 

3. " Study not for amusement, but for improvement." 




PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 37 

1. " He called y5u, not me." 

5. " He was esteemed for wisdom, not for wealth." 

6. " Study for improvement, not for amusement." 

7. " This proposal is not a mere idle compliment. It pro- 
ceeds from the sincerest and deepest feelings of our hearts." 

8. " Howard visited all Europe, not to survey the sump- 
tuousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples ; not to 
make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient 
grandeur ; not to form a scale of the curiosities of modern 
art ; not to collect medals or collate manuscripts ; but to dive 
into the depth of dungeons ; to plunge into the infection of 
hospitals ; to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain ; to 
take the gauge and dimensions of misery, depression, and 
contempt ; to remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglect- 
ed, to visit the forsaken, and to compare and collate the dis- 
tresses of all men in all countries." 

Note. A similar principle applies to the reading of conces- 
sions and of unequal antitheses, or contrasts. In the latter, 
the less important member has the rising, and the preponder- 
ant one, the falling inflection, in whatever part of a sentence 
they occur, and even in separate sentences. 

Example: 1. "Science may raise you to eminence. But 
virtue alone can guide you to happiness." 

2. " I rather choose 

To wrong the d^ad, to wrong myself and you, 
Than I will wrong such honorable men." 

Exception. When negation is emphatic or preponderant, it 
takes the falling inflection. — Example 1. He may yield to 
persuasion, but he will never submit to force." — 2. " We are 
troubled on every side, yet not distressed ; perplexed, but not 
in despair ; persecuted, but not forsaken ; cast down, but not 
destroyed." , 

Rule II. In question and answer, the falling inflection 
ends as far below the average level of the sentence, as the 
rising ends above it. In this way, a certain exact corre- 
spondence of sound to sound, in the inflections, is produced, 
which gives to the full downward slide of the answer, a de- 
cisive and satisfactory intonation, as a reply to the rising 
slide of the question. 

Examples: 1. " Are they Hebrews ? — So am ^I. Are they 
Israelites ? — So am ^I." 

2. "What would content you, in a political leader? — 
Talent ? No !— Enterprise ? No !— Courage ? No !— Repu- 
4 



S8 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET I* 

tation ? No ! — ^ Virtue ? No ! — The man whom you would 
select, should possess not one, but all of these." 

Rule III. When a question consists of two contrasted 
parts, connected in syntax, by the conjunction Or, used in a 
disjunctive sense, the former has the rising, and the latter, 
the falling inflection. 

Ex. : 1. " Does he mean you, or me ? " 

2. " Is this book yours, or mine ?" 

3. " Did you see him^ or his brother ? " 

4. " Are the people virtuous, or vicious ; intelligent, or ig- 
norant ; affluent, or indigent ? " 

Note. When Or is used conjunctively, the second inflec- 
tion does not fall, but rises higher than the first. — Example. 
" Would the influence of the Bible, — even if it were not the 
record of a divine revelation, be to render princes more tyran- 
nical, or subjects more ungovernable ; the rich more insolent, 
or the poor more disorderly ; would it make worse parents, 
or children, — husbands, or wives, — masters, or servants, — 
friends, or neighbors ? — ort would it not make men more vir- 
tuous,f and, consequently, more happy, in every situation ? " 

Bule on the Circumflex, or Wave. 

The circumflex, or wave, applies to all expressions used in 
a peculiar sense, or with a double meaning, and to the tones 
of mockery, sarcasm, and irony. 

Examples: 1. "You may avoid a quarrel with an if." — 
"Your if is the only peacemaker : much virtue in an if." 

2. " From the very first night, — -and to say it I 'm bold, — 
I 've been so very hot, that I 'm sure I 've caught cold !" 

3. " Go hang a calfskin on these recreant limbs !" 

4. " What a beautiful piece of work you have made by 

your carelessness !" 

5. " The weights had never been accused of light con- 
duct." 

Rule on the Monotone. 
The tones of grand and sublime description, profound rev- 
erence, or awe, of amazement and horror, are marked by the 
monotone, or perfect level of voice. 

* In successive questions, the rising inflection becomes higher at 
every stage, unless the last has, as in the above example, the falling in- 
flection of consummating emphasis. 

t The last Or is used disjunctively, and forms an example to the 
Rule, and not to the Note. 



P.AET I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



39 



Note. A monotone is always on a lower pitch than the 
preceding part of a sentence ; and, to give the greater effect 
to its deep solemn note, — which resembles the tolling of a 
heavy bell, — it sometimes destroys all comma pauses, and 
keeps up one continuous stream of oveTflowing sound. 

JSxam. 1. " His form had not yet lost 

All her original brightness, nor appeared 
Less than archangel ruined, and the excess 
Of glory obscured. As when the sun, nevv^-risen. 
Looks through the horiz5ntal misty air. 
Shorn of his beams, or from behind the moon, 
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
On half the nations, and with fear of change 
Perplexes monarchs." 

2. " And I saw a great white throne and Him that sat on 
it, from whose face the heavens and the earth fled away; 
and there was found no place for them," 

3. " Upon my seciire hour thy uncle stole. 
With jiiice of cursed hebenon in a vial, 
And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
The leperous distilment : whose effect 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man, 
That swift as quicksilver it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body. 
And, with a sudden vigor, it doth posset 
And curd, like eager dropping-s into milk. 

The thin and wholesome blood; so did it mine; 
And a most instant tetter barked about. 
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, 
All my smooth body." 

Bide on ^ Harmonic^ Inflections, 

* Harmonic ' inflections, — or those which, in emphatic 
phrases, are intended to prevent the frequent occurrence of 
emphasis in the same phrase, from becoming monotonous to 
the ear, — are applied in clauses of which every word is em- 
phatic, and is marked by a distinct and separate inflection. 

Example. " He has been guilty of one of the most shame' 
ful acts il that ever degraded | the nature II or the name {| 

of MAN." 

Note. In such cases the inflections usually alternate, in 
order to give the more vivid and pungent force to vehement 
emphasis. 



40 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I. 



Rtde on Repeated Words, Phrases, and Sentences. 

Words, phrases, and sentences which are repeated for effect, 
rise higher, or fall lower in inflection, besides increasing in 
force, at every repetition. 

Example 1. " From these walls a spirit shall go forth, that 
shall survive when this edifice, shall be 'like an unsubstan- 
tial pageant, faded.' It shall go forth, exulting in, but not 
abusing, its strength. It shall go forth, remembering, in the 
days of its prosperity, the pledges it gave in the time of its 
depression. It shall go forth, uniting a disposition to correct 
abuses, to redress grievances. IT SHALL GO FORTH, 
uniting the disposition to improve, with the resolution to 
maintain and defend, by that spirit of unbought affection, 
which is the chief defence of nations." 

2. " What was it, fellow-citizens, which gave to Lafayette 
his spotless fame? — The love of liberty. What has conse- 
crated his memory, in the hearts of good men ? — The love 
OF LIBERTY. What HBTved liis youthful arm with strength, 
and inspired him in the morning of his days, with sagacity 
and counsel?— THE LIVING LOVE OF LIBERTY. To 
what did he sacrifice power, and rank, and country, and free- 
dom itself?— TO THE LOVE OF LIBERTY PRO- 
TECTED BY law:' 



EXERCISES ON INFLECTIONS. 



Rising Inflection. Rule I.^ — ' High Rising Inflection'. — 

1. " Hd ! say you s6 ? " 

2. " What ! — confer a crovm on the author of the public 
calamities ? " 

3. " Indeed ! — acknowledge a trditor for our sovereign ?" 

Rule II. ' Moderate Rising Inflection.' — Exercise 1. "In 
every station which Washington was called to fill, he acquit- 
ted himself with honor." 

2. " As the evening was now far advanced, the party 
broke up." 

3. " Where your treasure is, there will your heart be * 
also." 

* The pupil should repeat each rule from memory, before commenc- 
ing the practice of the exercises adapted to it. 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



41 



4. " Though we cannot discern the reasons which regulate 
the occurrence of events, we may rest assured that nothing 
can happen without the cognizance of Infinite Wisdom." 

5. ■" Despairing of any way of escape from the perils which 
surrounded him, he abandoned his struggles, and gave him- 
self up to what seemed his inevitable doom." 

6. " Had I suffered such enormities to pass unpunished, I 
should have deemed myself recreant to every principle of 
justice and of duty." 

Note and Exception. ' Words and phrases of address'. — 
Exercise. " Listen, Americans, to the lesson which seems 
borne to us on the very air we breathe, while we perform 
these dutiful rights. — Ye winds, that wafted the pilgrims to 
the land of promise, fan, in their children's hearts, the love 
of freedom ! Blood which our fathers shed, cry from the 
ground ;— echoing arches of this renowned hall, whisper 
back the voices of other days ; — glorious Washington ! break 
the long silence of that votive canvass ; — speak, speak, mar- 
ble lips ; — teach us the love of liberty protected by 
LAW !" 

Rule III. Note. — ' Poetic Series'. — Example 1. " Power, 
will, sensation, memory, failed in turn." 

2 " Oh ! the dread mingling, in that awful hour, 
Of all terrific sounds ! — the savage tone 
Of the wild horn, the cannon's peal, the shower 
Of hissing darts, the crash of walls o'erthrown, 
The deep, dull, tambour's beat ! " 

3. " All the while, 

A ceaseless murmur from the populous town, 
Swells o'er these solitudes ; a mingled sound 
Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash 
Upon the stony ways, and hammer clang. 
And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks, 
And calls and crles,"^ and tread of eager feet 
Innumerable, hurrying to and fro." 

4. " Onward still the remote Pawnee and Mandan will 
beckon, whither the deer are flying, and the wild horse 
roams, where the buffalo ranges, and the condor soars, — far 
towards the waves where the stars plunge at midnight, and 
amid which bloom those ideal scenes for the persecuted sav- 



* See foot note on next page. 
4# 



42 



AMERICAN COMMON -SCHOOL 



[part I. 



VI 



age, where white men will murder no more for gold,"^ nor 
startle the game upon the sunshine hills." 

Rule IV. ' Questions which may he answered hy Yes or 
No\ — Exercise 1. " Has not the patronage of peers increased ? 
Is not the patronage of India now vested in the crown ? Are 
all these innovations to he made to increase the influence of 
the executive power ; and is nothing to be done in favor of 
the popular part of the constitution, to act as a counterpoise ?" 

2. " Your steps were hasty ; — did you speed for nothing ? 
Your breath is scanty ; — was it spent for nothing ? 
Your looks imply concern ;— concern for nothing ?" 

Exception. ' Emphasis'. — Exercise 1. " Tell me not of 
the honor of belonging to a free country. — I ask, does our 
liberty hear generous fruits ? " 

2. " Was there a village or a hamlet on Massachusetts 
Bay, which did not gather its hardy seamen to man the gun- 
decks of your ships of war ? Did they not rally to the battle, 
as men flock to a feast ? " 

3. " Is there a man among you, so lost to his dignity and 
his duty, as to withhold his aid at a moment like this ? " 

Rule V. ' Penultimate Inflection'. — Exercise 1. " All is 
doubt, distrust,"^ and disgrace ; and, in this instance, rely on 
it, that the certain and fatal result will be to make Ireland 
hate the connexion, contemn the councils of England, and 
despise her power." 

2. " I am at a loss to reconcile the conduct of men, who, 
at this moment, rise up as champions of the East India Com- 
pany's charter ; although the incompetence of that company 
to an adequate discharge of the trust deposited in them, are 
themes of ridicule and contempt to all the world ; and, al- 
though, in consequence of their mismanagement, connivance, 
and imbecility, combined with the wickedness of their ser- 
vants, the very name of an Englishman is detested, even to 
a proverb, through all Asia ; and the national character is be- 
come disgraced and dishonored." 

3. " It will be the duty of the historian and the sage, in all 
ages, to omit no occasion of commemorating that illustrious 
man ; and, till time shall be no more, will a test of the pro- 
gress which our race made in wisdom and in virtue, be de- 

* The penultimate inflection of a concluding series, or of a clause that 
forms perfect sense, is the same in kind with that which precedes a period, 
except in verse and poetic prose, which, in long passages of great beauty, 
retain the suspensive slide. 



PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 43 

rived from the veneration paid to the immortal name of 
Washington." 

Exception. * Emphasis'. — Exercise 1. " Let us bless and 
hallow our dwellings as the homes of freedom. Let us make 
them, too, the homes of a nobler freedom, — of freedom from 
vice, from evil passion, — from every corrupting bondage of 
the soul ! " 

2. " If guilty, let us calmly abide the results, and peace- 
ably submit to our sentence; but if we are traduced, and 
really be innocent, tell ministers the truth, — tell them they 
are tyrants ; and strain every effort to avert their oppression." 

3. '* Heaven has imprinted in the mother's face something 
beyond this world, something which claims kindred with the 
skies, — the angelic smile, the tender look, the waking, watch- 
ful eye, which keeps its fond vigil over her slumbering babe. 
— In the heart of man lies this lovely picture ; it lives in his 
sympathies ; it reigns in his affections ; his eye looks round, 
in vain, for such another object on earth." 

Falling Inflection. Rule I. ' Intensive Downward Slide.' 
Exercise 1. " Up ! all who love me ! blow on BLOW! 
And lay the outlaiued felons low ! " 

2. " ♦ Macgregor ! MACGREGOR ! ' he bitterly cried." 

3. " On ! countrymen, ON ! — for the day, — 

The proud day of glory, — is come ! " 

4. " To Irms ! gallant Frenchmen, to ARMS ? " 

5. " Oh ! shXme on us, countrymen, shame on us ALL ! 

If we cringe to so dastard a race ! " 

6. " TR:kMBLE, ye traitors ! whose schemes 

Are alike by all parties abhorred, — 
TREMBLE ! for, roused from your parricide dreams, 
Ye shall soon meet your fitting reward ! " 
Rule II. ' Full ' Falling Inflection, in the cadence of a 
sentence. — Exercise 1. " The changes of the year impart a 
color and character to our thoughts and feelings." 

2. " To a lover of nature and of wisdom, the vicissitude of 
seasons conveys a proof and exhibition of the wise and be- 
nevolent contrivance of the Author of all things." 

3. " He who can approach the cradle of sleeping inno- 
cence without thinking that ' of such is the kingdom of 
heaven,' or see the fond parent hang over its beauties, and 
half retain her breath, lest she should break its slumbers, — 
without a veneration beyond all common feeling, — is to be 
avoided in every intercourse of life, and is fit only for the 
shadow of darkness, and the solitude of the desert." 



44 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I. 



Exception. ' Modified C3.dence\— Exercise 1. " This mon- 
ument is a plain shaft. It bears no inscription, fronting the 
rising sun, from which the future antiquarian shall wipe the 
dust. Nor does the rising sun cause tones of music to issue 
from its summit. But at the rising of the sun, and at the 
setting of the sun, in the blaze of noon-day, and beneath the 
milder effulgence of lunar light, it speaks, it acts, to the full 
comprehension of every American mind, and the awakening 
of glowing enthusiasm in every American heart." 

2. " I speak not to you, sir, of your own outcast condition. 
— You perhaps delight in the perils of martyrdom. I speak 
not to those around me, who, in their persons, their sub- 
stance, and their families, have endured the torture, poverty, 
and irremediable dishonor. They may be meek and hallowed 
men, — willing to endure." 

3. " The foundation on which you have built your hopes, 
may seem to you deep and firm. But the swelling flood, and 
the howling blast, and the beating rain, will prove it to be but 
treacherous sand." 

Rule III. ' Moderate ' Falling Inflection, of complete sense. 
Exercise 1. " Animal existence is made up of action and 
slumber : nature has provided a season for each." 

2. " Two points are manifest : first, that the animal frame 
requires sleep ; secondly, that night brings with it a silence, 
and a cessation of activity, which allow of sleep being taken 
without interruption, and without loss." 

3. " Joy is too brilliant a thing to be confined within our 
own bosoms : it burnishes all nature, and, with its vivid col- 
oring, gives a kind of factitious life to objects without sense 
or motion." 

4. " When men are wanting, we address the animal crea- 
tion ; and, rather than have none to partake our feelings, we 
find sentiment in tho music of birds, the hum of insects, and 
the low of kine : nay, we call on rocks and streams and for- 
ests, to witness and share our emotions." 

5. " I have done my duty : — I stand acquitted to my con- 
science and my country: — I have opposed this measure 
throughout ; and I noAv protest against it, as harsh, oppress- 
ive, uncalled for, unjust, — as establishing an infamous prece- 
dent, by retaliating crime against crime, — as tyrannous, — 
cmelly and vindictively tyrannous." 

Exception. ' Plaintive Expression'. 
Exercise 1. " I see the cloud and the tempest near, _ 
The voice of the troubled tide I hear ; . 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



45 



The torrent of sorrow, the sea of grief, 
The rushing waves of a wretched life." 
2. " No deep-mouthed hound the hunter's haunt betrayed, 
No lights upon the shore or waters played. 
No loud laugh broke upon the silent air, 
To tell the wanderers man was nestling there." 
3. " The dead leaves strow the forest walk, 
And withered are the pale wild flowers ; 
The frost hangs blackening on the stalk, 
The dew-drops fall in frozen showers : — 
Gone are the spring's green sprouting bowers, 
Gone summer's rich and mantling vines ; 

And Autumn, with her yellow hours. 
On hill and plain no longer shines." 
4. " What is human life, but a waking dream, — a long 
reverie, — in which we walk as * in a vain show, and disquiet 
ourselves for naught ? ' In childhood, we are surrounded by 
a dim, unconscious present, in which all palpable realities 
seem for ever to elude our grasp ; in youth, we are but gazing 
into the far future of that life for which we are consciously 
preparing ; in manhood, we are lost in ceaseless activity and 
enterprise, and already looking forward to a season of quiet 
and repose, in which we are to find ourselves, and listen to a 
voice within ; and in old age, we are dwelling on the sha- 
dows of the past,"^ and gilding them with the evanescent 
glow which emanates from the setting sun of life." 
EuLE IV. and Note 1. ^Simple Commencing Series.^ 
Ex. I. " The 61d and the young are alike exposed to the 
shafts of Death." 

2. " The healthy, the temperate, and the virtuous, enjoy 
the true relish of pleasure." 

3. " Birth, riink, wealth, learning, are advantages of slight 
value, if unaccompanied by personal worth." 

4. " Gentleness, p<itience, kindness, cdndor, and courtesy, 
form the elements of every truly amiable character." 

5. " Sympathy, disinterestedness, magnanimity, generds- 
ity, liberality, and self-forgetfulness, are qualities which uni- 
versally secure the esteem and admiration of mankind." 

' Compound Commencing Series.^ 
Exercise 1. " In a rich S(!)il, and under a soft climate, the 
weeds of luxury will spring up amid the flowers of art." 

^ * Falling slide of contrast to the preceding clause. 



4B AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I. 

2. " All the wise institutions of the lawgiver, all the doc- 
trines of the sdge, all the ennobling strains of the poet, had 
perished in the ear, like a dream related, if letters had not 
preserved them." 

3. " The dimensions and distances of the pldnets, the 
causes of their revolutions, the path of cAmets, and the ebb- 
ing and flowing of tides, are now understood and explained." 

4. " The mighty pyramid, half buried in the sands of 
Africa, has nothing to bring down and report to us, but the 
power of kings, and the servitude of the people. If asked 
for its moral object, its admonition,"^ its sentiment, its instruc- 
tion to mankind, or any high end in its erection, it is silent ; 
— silent as the millions which lie in the dust at its base, and 
in the catacombs which surround it." 

5. " Yes, — let me be free ;t let me go and come at my 
own will ; let me do business, and make journeys, without a 
vexatious police or insolent soldiery to watch my steps ; let 
me think, and do, and speak, what I please, subject to no 
limit but that which is set by the common weal ; subject to 
no law but that which conscience binds upon me ; and I will 
bless my country, and love its most rugged rocks, and its 
most barren soil." 

Exception 3. ' Poetic and Pathetic Series'. 
Ex. 1. " Wheresoe'er thy lot command, 
Brother, pilgrim, stranger, 
God is ever near at hand, 
Golden shield from danger." 
2. " Rocks of granite, gates of brass, 
Alps heaven soaring. 
Bow, to let the wishes pass 
Of a soul imploring." 
, 3. " From the phantoms of the night, 
Dreaming horror, pale affright. 
Thoughts which rack the slumbering breast, 

* All emphatic series, even m suppositive and conditional expression, 
being, like enumeration, cumulative in effect, and corresponding, 
therefore, to climax in style, are properly read with a prevailing down- 
ward slide in the ' suspensive ' or slight form, which belongs to incom- 
plete but energetic expression, and avoids, accordingly, the low inflec- 
tion of cadence at a period. 

f Emphasis, and length of clause, may substitute the ^ moderate ' 
falling slide for the slight 'suspensive ' one. But the tone, in such cases, 
will still be perfectly free from the descent of a cadence, which belongs 
only to the period. 



PART I.] 



HEADER AND SPEAKER. 



47 



Fears which haunt the realm of rest, 

And the wounded mind's remorse, 

And the tempter's secret force, 

Hide us 'neath Thy mercy's shade." 
4. " From the stars of heaven, and the flowers of earth. 
From the pageant of power, and the voice of mirth. 
From the mist of the morn on the mountain's brow, 
From childhood's song, and affections vow ; 
From all save that o'er which soul "^ bears sway, 
There breathes but one record, — ' passing away ! ' " 

5. " When the summer exhibits the whole force of active 
nature, and shines in full beauty and splendor; when the 
succeeding season offers its ' purple stores and golden grain,' 
or displays its blended and softened tints ; when the winter 
puts on its sullen aspect, and brings stillness and repose, af- 
fording a respite from the labors which have occupied the 
preceding months, inviting us to reflection, and compensating 
for the want of attractions abroad, by fireside delights and 
home-felt joys ; in all this interchange and variety, we find 
reason to acknowledge the wise and benevolent care of the 
God of seasons." 

6. " In that solemn hour, when exhausted nature can no 
longer sustain itself, when the light of the eye is waxing dim, 
when the pulse of life is becoming low and faint, when the 
breath labors, and the tongue falters, when the shadow of 
death is falling on all outward things, and darkness is begin- 
ning to gather over the faces of the loved ones who are weep- 
ing by his bedside, a ray of immortal Hope, is beaming from 
his features : it is a Christian who is expiring." 

Note 2. — Exercise 1. ' Repeated and heightening Rising 
Inflection'. " I ask, will you in silence permit this invasion 
of your rights, at once wanton, mischievous, uncalled for, 
and unnecessary ? Will you patiently tolerate the annihila- 
tion of all freedom, — the appointment of a supreme dictator, 
who may, at his will, suspend all your rights, liberties, and 
privileges? Will you, without a murmur of dissent, submit 
to a tyranny which nearly equals that of the Russian auto- 
crat, and is second to that of Bonaparte"^ ?" 

2. ' Repeated and incieasing Falling Inflection '.t " Was 

* The inflection of any clause always lies on the emphatic word ; 
and, if that word is a polysyllable, on the accented syllable chiefly, al- 
though not always exclusively. 

t This inflection both begins higher, and ends lower, every time it is 
repeated. 



48 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I. 



it the winter's storm, beating upon the houseless heads of wo- 
men and children ; was it hard labor and spare meals; — was 
it disease, — was it the tomahawk ; was it the deep malady of 
a blighted hope, a ruined enterprise, and a broken heart ; — 
was it some, or all of these united, that hurried this forsaken 
company to their melancholy fate ? " 

3. " Yes, after he has destroyed my belief in the superin- 
tending providence of God, — after he has taught me that the 
prospect of an hereafter is but the baseless fabric of a vision, 
— after he has bred and nourished in me a contempt for that 
sacred volume which alone throws light over this benighted 
world, — after having argued me out of my faith by his soph- 
istries, or laughed me out of it by his ridicule,- — after having 
thus wrung from my soul every drop of consolation, and 
dried up my very spirit within me ; — yes, after having ac- 
complished this in the season of my health and my prosper- 
ity, the skeptic would come to me while I mourn, and treat 
me like a drivelling idiot, whom he may sport with, because 
he has ruined me, and to whom, in the plenitude of his com- 
passion, — too late, and too unavailing, — he may talk of truths 
in which he himself does not believe, and which he has long 
exhorted me, and has at last persuaded me, to cast away as 
the dreams and delusions of human folly." 

Simple Concluding Series. 
Exercise 1. " It is a subject interesting alike to the old, and 
to the young." 

2. " Nature, by the very disposition of her elements, has 
commanded, as it were, and imposed upon men, at moderate 
intervals, a general intermission of their t6ils, their occupa- 
tions, and their pursuits." 

3. " The influence of true religion, is mild, and scjft, and 
noiseless, and constant, as the descent of the evening dew 
on the tender herbage, nourishing and refreshing all the ami- 
able and social virtues ; but enthusiasm is violent, siidden, 
rattling as a summer shower, rooting up the fairest flowers, 
and washing away the richest mould, in the pleasant garden 
of society." 

Compound Concludi7ig Series. 

Exercise 1. " The winter of the good man's age is cheered 
with pleasing reflections on the past, and bright hopes of the 
future." 

2. " It was a moment replete with j(!)y, amazement, and 
anxiety." 



1 



PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 49 

3. " Nothing would tend more to remove apologies for in- 
attention to religion, than a fair, impartial, and full account 
of the education, the characters, the intellectual processes, 
and the dying moments of those who offer them." 

4. " Then it would be seen, that they had gained by their 
skepticism no new pleasures, no tranquillity of mind, no 
peace of conscience during life, and no consolation in the 
hour of death." 

5. " Well-doing is the cause of a just sense of elevation of 
character ; it clears and strengthens the spirits ; it gives high- 
er reaches of th(Sught ; it widens our benevolence, and makes 
the current of our peculiar affections swift and deep." 

6. " A distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean, 
was sometimes a theme of speculation. — How interesting this 
fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the great mass of 
existence ! What a glorious monument of human invention^ 
that has thus triumphed over wind and wdve ; has brought 
the ends of the earth in communion ; has established an in- 
terchange of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of the - 
north all the luxuries of the south^ ; diffused the light of 
knowledge, and the charities of cultivated life ; and has thus 
bound together those scattered portions of the human race, be- 
tween which nature seemed to have thrown an insurmount- 
able barrier ! " 

Exception 1. — ' Disconnected Series'. — Exercise 1. "Youth, 
jn the fulness of its spirits, defers religion to the sobriety of 
manhood ; manhood, encumbered with cares, defers it to the 
ieisure of old age ; old age, weak and hesitating, is unable to 
enter on an untried mode of life." 

2. " Let me prepare for the approach of eternity ; let me 
give up my soul to meditation ; let solitude and silence ac- 
quaint me with the mysteries of devotion ; let me forget the 
world, and by the world be forgotten, till the moment arrives 
in which the veil of eternity shall fall, and I shall be found 
at the bar of the Almighty." 

3. " Religion wiM grow up with you in youth, and grow 
old with you in 4ge ; it will attend you, with peculiar plea- 
sure, to the hovels of the poor, or the chamber of the sick ; it 
will retire with you to your closet, and watch by your bed, or 
walk with you, in gladsome union, to the house of God ; it 
will follow you beyond the confines of the world, and dwell 
'5vith you for ever, in heaven, as its native residence." 

* Accidental 'falling' in flection; for cpntrast. 
5 



50 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I. 



' Emphatic Series'. — Exercise 1. " Assemble in your par- 
ishes, villages, and hamlets. Resolve, — petition, — address." 

2. " This monument will speak of patriotism and courage ; 
of civil and religious liberty ; of free government ; of the 
moral improvement and elevation of mankind ; and of the 
immortal memory of those who, with heroic devotion, have 
sacrificed their lives for their country." 

3. "I have roamed through the^ world, to find hearts no- 
where warmer than those of New England, soldiers nowhere 
braver, patriots nowhere purer, wives and mothers nowhere 
triier, maidens nowhere lovelier, green valleys and bright 
rivers nowhere greener or brighter ; and I will not be silent, 
when I hear her patriotism or her truth questioned with so 
much as a whisper of detraction." 

4. " What is the most odious species of tyranny ? That a 
handful of men, free themselves, should execute the most 
base and abominable despotism over millions of their fellow- 
creatures ; that innocence should be the victim of oppression ; 
that industry should toil for rapine ; that the harmless laborer 
should sweat, not for his own benefit, but for the luxury and 
rapacity of tyrannic depredation : — in a word, that thirty mil- 
lions of men, gifted by Providence with the ordinary endow- 
ments of humanity, should groan under a system of despot- 
ism, unmatched in all the histories of the world." 

Exception 3. — ' Poetic Series'. 
Ex. 1. "He looks in boundless majesty abroad, 
And sheds the shining day, that burnished plays 
On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, 
High-gleaming from afar." 

2. " Round thy beaming car. 
High-seen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly dance 
Harmonious knit, the rosy-fingered Hours, 
The Zephyrs floating loose, the timely Rains, 
Of bloom ethereal, the light-footed Dews, 
And, softened into joy, the surly Storms." 

3. " Hear him compare his happier lot, with his 
Who bends his way across the wintery wolds, 
A poor night-traveller, while the dismal snow 
Beats in his face, and dubious of his paths. 
He stops and thinks, in every lengthening blast, 
He hears some village mastiff's distant howl. 
And sees far streaming, some lone cottage light; 
Then, undeceived, upturns his streaming eyes, 
And clasps his shivering hands, or, overpowered, 



PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 51 

Sinks on the frozen ground, weighed down with sleep, 
From which the hapless wretch shall never wake." 

4. " There was neither tree, nor shruh, nor field, nor 
house, nor living creatures, nor visible remnant of what hu- 
man hands had reared." 

5. " And I, creature of clay, like those here cast around, 
I travel through life, as I do on this road, with the remains 
of past generations strewed along my trembling path ; and, 
whether my journey last a few hours more or less, must still, 
like those here deposited, shortly rejoin the silent tenants of 
some cluster of tombs, and be stretched out by the side of 
some already sleeping corpse." 

Rule V. — [No separate exercises on this rule are deemed neces- 
sary ; as it is so fully illustrated in the examples to the rule.] 

Both Irifiections, in connexion. 
Rule I. — Exercise 1. " It is not a parchment pedigree, — it 
is not a name derived from the ashes of dead men, that make 
the only charter of a king. Englishmen were but slaves, if, 
in giving crown and sceptre to a mortal like ourselves, we 
ask not, in return, the kingly virtues." 

2. " The true enjoyments of a reasonable being do not 
consist in unbounded indulgence,"^ or luxurious ease, in the 
tumult of passions, the languor of indolence, or the flutter of 
light amusements. Yielding to immoral pleasures corrupts 
the mind ; living to animal and trifling ones, debases it : 
both, in their degree, disqualify it for genuine good, and con- 
sign it over to wretchedness." 

3. " What constitutes a state ? — 

Not high raised bdttlements, or labored mound, 

Thick wdll, or moated gate ; 
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned, 

Not hAjs and broad-armed ports. 
Where, laughing at the storm, proud navies ride ; 

Not starred and spangled courts, — 
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride ! 
No ! — men, — high-minded men, — 
Men who their duties know. 
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain." 
Note. * Concession and Unequal Antithesis.' 
Ex. " The clouds of adversity may darken over the Christian's 

* The penultimate inflection falls, when a sentence ends with the ris- 
ing slide. 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part t. 



path. But he can look up with filial trust to the guardian 
care of a beneficent Father." 

2. "I admit that the Greeks excelled in acuteness and ver- 
satility of mind. But, in the firm and manly traits of the 
Roman character, I see something more noble, — ^more worthy 
of admiration." 

3. " We war against the leaders of evil, — not against the 
helpless tools : we war against our oppressors, — not against 
our misguided brethren." 

4. " Still, still, for ever 
Better, though each man's life blood were a river, 
That it should flow, and overflow, than creep 
Through thousand lazy channels in our veins, 
Dammed, like the dull canal, with locks and chains, 
And moving, as a sick man in his sleep. 

Three paces, and then faltering : better be 
Where the extinguished Spartans still are free, 
In their proud charnel of Thermopylae, 
Than stagnate in our marsh." 

Exception. ' Emphatic Negation'. 

Exercise 1. "I '11 keep them all ; 

He shall not have a Scot of them ; 
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not." 

2. " Do not descend to your graves with the disgraceful 
censure, that you suffered the liberties of your country to be 
taken away, and that you were mutes as well as cdwards. 
Come forward, like men : protest against this atrocious at- 
tempt." 

3. " I am not sounding the trumpet of w^r. There is no 
man who more sincerely deprecates its calamities, than I 
do." 

4. " Rest assured that, in any case, we shall not be willing 
to rank last in this generous contest. You may depend on 
us for whatever heart or hand can do, in so noble a cause." 

5. " I will cheerfully concede every reasonable demand, for 
the sake of peace. But I will not submit to dictation." 

Rule II. 'Question and Answer'. — Exercise 1. "Do you 
think these yells of hostility will be forgotten ? — Do you sup- 
pose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and 
insulted country, that they will not be whispered in her green 
valleys, and heard from her lofty hills ? — Oh ! they ivill be 
heard there : — yes, and they will not be forgotten." 

2. "I will say, what have any classes of you, in Ireland, to 
hope from the French ? Is it your property you wish to pre- 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



63 



serve ?— Look to the example of Holland ; and see how that 
nation has preserved its property by an alliance with the 
French ! Is it independence you court ? — Look to the exam- 
ple of unhappy Switzerland : see to what a state of servile 
abasement that once manly territory has fallen, under France ! 
Is it to the establishment of Cathoh'city that your hopes are 
directed? — The conduct of the First Consul, in subverting 
the power and authority of the Pope, and cultivating the 
friendship of the Mussulman in Egypt, under a boast of that 
subversion, proves the fallacy of such a reliance. — Is it civil 
liberty ^ you require ? — Look to France itself, crouching un- 
der despotism, and groaning beneath a system of slavery, un- 
paralleled by whatever has disgraced or insulted any nation." 
3. '* Shall I be left forgotten, in the dust. 

When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ? 
Shall Nature's voice, — to man alone unjust, — 

Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live ? 

Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive 
With disappointment, penury, and pain ? 

No : Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive, 

And man's majestic beauty bloom again, 
Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign." 
Rule III. 'Disjunctive "Or"'. — Exercise 1. " Will you rise 
like men, and firmly assert your rights, or will you tamely 
submit to be trampled on ? " 

2. " Did the Romans, in their boasted introduction of civil- 
ization, act from a principle of humane interest in the welfare 
of the world ? Or did they not rather proceed on the greedy 
and selfish policy of aggrandizing their own nation, and ex- 
tending its dominion ? " 

3. " Do virtuous habits, a high standard of morality, pro- 
ficiency in the arts and embellishments of life, depend upon 
physical formation, or the latitude in which we are placed? 
— t Do they not depend upon the civil and religious institu- 
tions which distinguish the country?" 

[The remaining rules on * inflection,' as they are of less 
frequent application, are thought to be sufficiently illustrated 
by the examples appended to each rule. A repetition of these, 
however, may be useful, as an exercise in review.] 

* In paragraphs constructed like the above, the successive questions 
rise one above another, in inflection, so as at last to reach a very high 
note. 

t The above rale applies to cases in which the conjunction Or is, or 
may be, understood. 

5^ 



S4 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I. 



§ IX. JUST STRESS. 

The next characteristic of good reading and speaking, is 
just ' stress'. This word, — as used by Dr. Rush, in his Phi- 
losophy of the voice, — is meant to designate a peculiar modi- 
fication of force, which distinguishes speech from music. A 
long drawn musical sound has its most forcible part, — in con- 
sequence of * swell' and 'diminish', — at the middle portion of 
the note. The tones of speech on the contrary, — although, 
in a few cases, they approach to this mode of voice, — usually 
have the chief force of each sound at the opening or the clos 
ing part. In music, the increase of force is, comparatively, 
gradual ; in speech and reading, it is frequently abrupt. To 
these distinctive modes of voice the term ' stress ' is applied. 

To understand the application of this term, in detail, it becomes 
necessary to advert to the mode of creating vocal sounds. In vocal 
music, the result is obtained by full ' inspiration', (inhaling or draw- 
ing in the breath,) and, comparatively slight 'expiration', (giving 
forth the breath.) In this mode, much breath is drawn in, much re- 
tained, or withheld, and little given out at a time ; and thus are pro- 
duced those smooth, pure, and gradually increasing tones, which are 
appropriate to music, — all the breath that is given forth, being con- 
verted into sound, and none escaping, that is not vocalized. In notes 
of very short duration, singing and speech are, it is true, brought 
nearer to a resemblance. But this resemblance is more apparent than 
real; as may be observed in the execution of every good singer, 
which, in the most rapid passages, still produces the genuine effect 
of song, as differing from speech. The resemblance is owing solely 
to the brevity of sound, in such cases, which does not afford time for 
broad and marked distinctions to be drawn by the ear. 

The modes of voice which constitute speech, or are exem- 
plified in reading, are the following : 

I. Radical Stress. This form of force includes two modes, 
— 'explosion' and 'expulsion'. 

1. 'Explosion' is an abrupt and instantaneous burst of 
voice, — as, for example, in violent anger. 

This, being an instinctive, unconscious, involuntary, impulsive 
emotion, does not allow time or disposition for any intentional or de- 
liberate effect, but makes the creation of vocal sound seem an irre- 
pressible, spontaneous, electric production of nature, lying equally 
out of the reach of the understanding and the will. This tone has 
its contrast in the deep, calm, and regular swell of the tone of rev- 
erence, or the ample volume, and deliberate force, of conscious 
authority and command, in which the speaker is self-possessed and 
self-directed, and controls his vocal effects for purposes understood 
or felt. 



I 



PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 55 

Contrast, for instance, the following angry shout of Douglas, 
when enraged by the defiance of Marmion, with the examples of 
reverential invocation and authoritative command, which occur in sub- 
sequent paragraphs. 

Example of ^Explosion\ 

"Up drawbridge ! groom ! What, warder, HO ! 
Let the portctjllis fall ! " 

The sounds of all the accented vowels, in this style, fall upon the 
ear with an instantaneous, clear, sharp, abrupt, and cutting force, at 
the initial or ' radical' part of each. 

2. * Expulsion', — a conscious, intentional, and deliberate 
force, coming upon the ear with great power ; as, for example, 
in the language of authoritative command. 

Example of ^Expulsion '. 
" Vanguard ! to right and left the front unfold ! " 
In this style, bold and forcible as it is, and even sudden as is its 
commencement, the accented vowels do not startle the ear with the 
abrupt shock of the tone of anger, exemplified above. There is a 
partial, though very brief, swell, perceptible, in the 'radical', or in- 
itial part, of each sound. — Both of the preceding examples are 
classed under the head of ' radical ' stress ; as their chief force lies 
in the 'radical', or first part of each sound. 

II. Median Stress. This mode of force is exhibited in, 

1. 'Effusion', — a moderate, gentle, and gradual swelling 
of tone, — as, for example, in the calm and tranquil utterance 
oi reverential feeling, in which no disturbing impulse agitates 
or forces out the breath, but the voice, somewhat as in music, 
glides out, with a smooth effusive stream of sound, enlarging 
as it flows, but never bursting out into irregular violence. 

Example of ^Effusio7i\ 
" But chiefly Thou, O Spirit ! that dost prefer, 
Before all temples, the upright heart and pure. 
Instruct me, for Thou know'st." 

The ' eflusive' style avoids every thing abrupt or sudden in the 
formation of sound, and swells gradually to its ' acme', (chief point,) 
at the middle of each sound, — in the manner of music ; and from 
this point 'diminishes', or decreases, to the close. This species of 
* stress' is accordingly denominated 'median', — from the word me- 
dium, or middle. 

2. 'Suppression', — a powerful force of 'explosion' or 'ex- 
pulsion', kept down, in the very act of giving forth the voice, 
and converted into the 'median' form, as in the case of a per- 
son communicating, in great earnestness of feeling, with an- 



56 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I. 



other, standing at a distance, and yet exceedingly anxious not 
to be heard by a third person, still farther off, — or, as in the 
tone of extreme earnestness, uttered by the watcher in the 
chamber of a sick person. 

Examples of ' Suppression \ 

1. " Hark ! James, listen ! for I must not speak loud. I do 
not wish John to hear what I am saying ! " 

2. " Step softly ! speak low ! make no noise ! " 

This mode of voice may be termed a ' half whisper'; it is the ' as- 
pirated' and ' impure' tone, which lies halfway between the ordinary 
tone of the voice and a whisper. It is caused by allowing a vast 
quantity of breath, not 'vocalized', to rush out along with the sound 
of the voice. It is, in fact, ' explosion', or ' expulsion', merged, as 
it were, or drowned, in a stream of ' aspiration', and made to assume 
the style of ' median stress'. 

III. Vanishing Stress. Besides the 'radical', or initial, 
and the ' median', or middle, ' stress', there is also a ' vanish- 
ing', or final ' stress', which begins softly, swells onward, and 
bursts out suddenly, and leaves off abruptly, at the very close 
of a sound, as in the jerking termination of the tone of im- 
patient feeling. 

Thus, in the language of maddened impatience, as uttered by 
Queen Constance, in her frenzy of grief and disappointment, at the 
overthrow of all her hopes for her son, in consequence of the peace 
formed between France and England : 

Exa^mple of ' Vanishing Stress '. 
" War ! war ! — no peace : peace is to me a war ! " 
In tones of this class, the voice withholds its force, and delays the 
explosion or expulsion, till the last moment of the emphatic sound, 
and then throws it out with an abrupt, wrenching force, which re- 
sembles that of a stone suddenly jerked from the hand. This 
species of stress, as it lies at the ' vanish', or last point, of a sound, 
is termed 'vanishing stress'. 

IV. Compound Stress. The designation of 'compound 
stress', is applied to that mode of forming tones, which 
throws out the force of the voice in such a manner as to 
mark, with great precision, the 'radical' and the 'vanish', or 
the beginning and the end, of each accented or emphatic 
sound. 

Thus, in the tone of surprise, which is marked by a bold, ' upward 
slide', beginning very low, and ending very high, the voice strikes 
with peculiar force on the first and last points of the slide, in order 
to stamp it more distinctly on the ear, as the vehicle of intense emo- 
tion. A striking example again occurs in the language of Queen 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



57 



Constance, in the situation mentioned before, when overwhelmed 
with astonishment at the news she has just received. 

Example of ^Compound Stress \ 
" Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace ! 
Gone to be friends ! " 

V. Thorough Stress. This designation is applied to that 
species of force, which marks all the forms of ' stress', ' radi- 
cal', ' median', and ' vanishing', with intense power, on the 
same sound ; so as to cause the character of all to be deeply 
felt, as in a bold shout^ or any other very impressive form of 
voice, which indicates intense emotion. 

Example of ' Thorough Stress '. 
" Awake ! arise ! or be for ever fallen ! " 
In this shout of the arch-fiend to his fallen host, the tone, it will 
be perceived, is not that of mere volume or quantity, of mere loud- 
ness or physical force, as in the mechanical act of calling, or the 
voice of a public crier. It has the wide ' falling inflection' of author- 
ity and command, and the forcible ' radical' stress and 'expulsive' ut- 
terance of courage; and to preserve the effect of all these, it must 
not only begin and close vividly, but exhibit a ' median' ' swell', and 
a distinct 'vanish'. It must, in other words, give distinctive force 
and character to the beginning, the middle, and the end of each ac- 
cented sound. 

VI. Interbiittent Stress, or Tremor. The 'tremor', 
(trembling,) or 'intermittent' stress, takes place in the utter- 
ance of all those emotions which enfeeble the voice, by their 
overpowering effect on feeling ; as, for example, in fear and 
grief and sometimes joy, when extreme. This mode of ut- 
terance characterizes, also, the feeble voice of age, or the tone 
of a person shivering with cold. 

Examples of the former will be found in the section on ' Explosive 
Tones'. Of the latter we have instances in the language, both of 
the old woman and the farmer, in Wordsworth's ballad, ' Goody 
Blake and Harry Gill'. 

Examples of Tremor. 
" She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, 
While Harry held her by the arm, — 
' God ! who art never out of hearings 
Oh ! may he never more be warm .'' " 
2. " No word to any man he utters, 
Abed or up, to young or old ; 
But ever to himself he mutters, 
[tr.] *Poor Harry Gill is very cold /' " 



1. 



[Tremor] 



58 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I. 



Exact discrimination and disciplined facility, in distinguishing and 
executing the different forms of ' stress' , are indispensable to the life 
and appropriateness of good reading. Without the command of 
clear and full ' radical stress', the voice has no efficacy i without the 
expression embodied in the ' median ' and ' vanishing ' forms, it is 
destitute of feeling. The preceding examples should be practised 
till they become perfectly familiar. The importance of this branch 
of elocution, in connexion with expressive tones, will be yet more 
distinctly perceived, when the student arrives at that stage of the 
subject, in which frequent references are made to the distinctions of 
* stress'. 



^ X. EXPRESSIVE TONES. 



The word 'tone', in elocution, may be used, as in music, 
signify the interval which exists in successive sounds of the 
voice, as they occur in the gamut, or musical scale. But it 
is commonly used as equivalent, nearly, to the term ' expres- 
sion', in music, by which is meant the mode of voice as 
adapted, or not adapted, to feeling. Thus we sneak of the 

* tones' of passion, — of a * false' tone, — of a 'school' tone. 

Every tone of the voice implies, 1. a certain 'force', or 
'quantity', of sound; — 2. a particular 'note', or 'pitch'; — 
3. a given ' time', or ' movement '; — 4. a peculiar * stress '; — 
5. a special ' quality', or character ; — 6. a predominating ' in- 
flection'. Thus, the tone of aioe, has a ' very soft force', a 

* very low pitch', a ' very slow movement', ' median stress', 
and 'pectoral quality', or that deep murmuring resonance, 
which makes the voice seem as it were partially muffled in 
the chest, together with a partial 'monotone', prevailing at 
the opening of every clause, and every sentence. All these 
properties belong to the natural utterance of awe ; take away 
any one, and the effect of emotion is lost, — the expression 
sounds deficient to the ear. 

[xx] 'Example 1. " The bell | strikes | one. — We take 
[oo] no note of time, 

[ = ] But from its loss : to give it, then, a tongue, 
\m.s.'\ Is wise | in man. As if an angel | spoke II 
[j9. 2'.] I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 
^ It is the knell of my departed hours. 

Where are they ? — With the years beyond the flood." 

* These marks indicate [xx] 'very soft,' \^^ 'very low', [ = ] 'very 
slow'; \m.. s-l 'median stress '; \p. ^.] 'pectoral quahty'. See Kty to the 
Notation of ^Expressive Tone\ on next page. 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



The first five of the properties of voice vrhich have been enume- 
rated, are the ground of the following classification and notation. 

Key to the Notation of 'Expressive Tone.' 
'Force'. 
[I] 'loud'; [II] 'very loud'; [x] 'soft'; [xx] 'very soft'; 
[<] 'increase'; [>] 'decrease'. 

'Pitch'. 
[°] ' high '; [°°] ' very high '; [^J ' low '; [oo] ' very low'. 

'Key\ 
\^] ' lively', — (full tone ;) [b] ' plaintive', — (' semitone'.) 

' Time\ 
[u] ' quick '; [u u] ' very quick '; [ — ] ' slow '; [ = ] ' very 
slow'. 

'Stress'.^ 
[r. s.] ' radical stress '; [w. s.] ' median stress '; [v. s.] ' van- 
ishing stress '; [c. s.] ' compound stress '; [th. s.] ' thorough 
stress '; [s. s.] ' suppressed stress '; [tr.] ' tremor '; [ef. s.] 
' effusive stress '; [expul. s.] ' expulsive stress '; [explo. s.] ' ex- 
plosive stress'. 

' QualityW 
\h.q.^^ ' harsh quality '; \sm.q.'] ' smooth quality '; [«•§'.] 'as- 
pirated quality '; [pu. ?.] 'pure tone'; [_p. g.] ' pectoral quality '; 
Vs- 5'-] 'guttural quality'; \o. q.'\ ' oral quality'; \oro. q.'\ ' oro- 
tund quality'. 

Combinations. 
\h. g. 5'.] ' harsh guttural quality'; [sm.p. q.'\ ' smooth, pec- 
toral quality', &c 

The above Key, though, at first sight, intricate, will occasion no 
serious difficulty to students who have read attentively the Sections 
on ' Stress ' and ' Quality. ' The notation will be found of great 
service, not only by suggesting appropriate 'expression', which a 
young reader might otherwise overlook, but by enabling the pupil to 
prepare for the exercise of reading or declaiming, by previous study 
and practice. 

It is a humiliating fact, that, in many schools, the sublimest and 
most beautiful strains of poetry, — take, for example, Milton's invo- 
cation, "Hail holy Light!" — are, from the neglect of 'expressive 
tone', called out in the same voice with which a clerk repeats the 
number or the mark on a bale of goods, or read with the ' free and 
easy ' modulation of a story told by the fireside, — or perhaps, with 



* Se^ § IX. 'Stkess' 



t See ^ I. f Quality'. 



60 



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[past 1, 



the pompous mouthing of the juvenile hero of a ' spouting club', 
with the languishing tone of a sick person, or with the suppressed, 
half-whispering utterance of a conscious culprit. 

The notation of ' expression ' has been adopted with a view 
to the early formation of correct habit. 

RULES ON EXPRESSIVE TONE. 

Rule I. The tones of anger, vexation, alarm, fear, and 
terror, have an utterance 'extremely loud, high, and quick', 
' abrupt', and ' explosive', — or, sometimes marked by ' expul- 
sive' and by 'vanishing' stress, — an 'aspirated', 'harsh', and 
' guttural ' voice, and are characterized, throughout, by the ' fall- 
ing inflection'. 

Example of Anger. 
Notation. " He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half 
[I I] a million ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, 
[° °] scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my 
[u u] friends, heated mine enemies : and what '5 his rea- 
\h. g. q.'\ son ? I am a Ji;w. — Hath not a Jew eyes, hath not 
[explo.s.] a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, 
passions ? fed with the same food, hurt with the 
See Key same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by 
to the same ?nea?is, ivarmed and cooled by the same win- 
Notation, ter and summer as a CnRfsTiAN is ?" 
Vexation, 
[I I] " Say you so 1 sXy you so ? — I say unto you 

[° °] again, you are a shallow, (.owardly, hind, and you 
[u u] lie. Our plot is a good plot as ever was laid ; our 
\explo.s.'\ friends true and constant ; a good plot, good 
{a. p. friends, and full of expectation: an excellent j9Zo^, 
(f* VERY good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue 
g. q.] is this! — An 1 were now by this rascal, I could brain 
him with his lady's fan. — Oh I I could divide my- 
self, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of 
SKIMMED MILK with SO houorable an action !" 
Alarm. 

[I l] [° °] [^ u] " Strike on the tinder, ho ! 

[expul. s.] Give me a taper ; call up all my piiople ! 
[a. & oro. q.] Get more tapers ; 

[Shouting, Raise all my kindred ! — 
Calling.] Call up my BROTHER !— 

Some I ONE way, some another ! 

Get weapons, ho ! 
And raise some special officers of night /" 



« 



PAKT 1.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



61 



[II] 
[-] 

[expul. 
r.s.] 



Fear. 

" Oh ! sXvE me, Hubert, SAVE me : my eyes are out, 
Even with the Jierce looks of these bloody men! 
Alas I what need you be so boisterous rough ? 
I will not struggle, — I will stand ] stone | still. 
For Heaven's sake, Hubert I let me not be bound! 
[a.o.q.] Nay, hear me, Hubert I drive these men away, 
[' Tre- And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
mor\ I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
through-^oj: LOOK | upon the irons | dngerly ; 
out^ Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you, 
Whatever torments you do put me to." 

Terror. 
[1 1 ° ° u u] " Awake ! AWAKE !— 

{expul. Ring the ALARUM bell: MURDER! and TREASON! 
^m.s. Banquo, and Donalbain ! Malcolm! AWAKE? 
pro- Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
longed.'] And look on death itself ! — Up ! up ! and see 
[o'.(j;.o.^.]The^rea^ doom's image!— MkhCOhWl BANQUO ! 
{Shout.\k^ from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights, 
{Call.] To countenance this horror /" 

Rule II. Wonder and astonishment are expressed by ' loud, 
high, and slow utterance '; ' vanishing stress '; ' aspirated ' and 
slightly ' guttural ' ' quality '; and prolonged ' downward slide'. 
— Astonishment exceeds ivonder, in the degree of these pro- 
perties. 

Example of Wonder. 

" What is H ? — a spirit ? 
See ! how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, 
It carries a brave form ! — but 't is a spirit ! — 

I might call him 
A thing divine ; for nothing natural 
I ever saw so noble /" 



[I] 

[°] 

[-] 

[v. s.] 

[a. 0. q.] 



Astonishment. 
[I] ^^Alonzo. What harmony is this? — my good friends, 
[°] hIrk ! 

[ — ] Gonzalo. Marvellous sweet music ! 
[y. 5.] Alon. Give us kiiid keepers, heavens !- What were 
[a.^.g'.JTHESE ? 

Sebastian. A living drollery ! Now I will believe 
6 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I. 



That there are unicorns : that, in Arabia, 
There is one tree, the 'phoBnix' throne; onepJuBuix 
At this hour reigning there. 

Antonio. I '11 believe both ; 

And what does else want credit, come to we, 
And I '11 be sworn H is true." 

Note. Amazement, when it does not go to the utmost ex- 
treme, has a louder, but lower and slower utterance, than clS' 
tonishment : the other properties of voice are of the same 
description as those expressed in astonishment, but increased 
in degree. 

Amazem£nt. 

[I] " Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why stand you 
["^J In this strange stare ? 

[ — ] [o] Alonzo. Oh I it is monstrous ! monstrous ! 
\y. 5.] Me thought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ; 
\a. 8f The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder, 
jp. g.] That deep and dreadful organ-pipe pronounced 

The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass .'" 

Rule III. Horror and extreme amazement have a * softened* 
* force', an extremely ' low ' note, and ' slow ' movement, a 
' suppressed stress', a deep ' aspirated pectoral quality', and a 
prevailing ' monotone '. 

Example of Horror. 

[x] " Now, o'er the one half world 

[o o] Nature seems dead ; and Avicked dreams abuse 
[ — ] The ciirtained sleeper ; witchcraft celebrates 
[5.5.]Pale Hecate's offerings ; and withered miirder, 
\a.p. Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf, 
g.] Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
Moves like a ghost. — [^ q] Thou siire and firm-set earth ! 
Hear not my steps which way they walk, for fear 
The very stones prate of my whereabouts. 
And take the present horror from the time. 
Which now suits with it." 



* The omission of any mark, indicates the moderate or middle 'pitch', 
'force', or 'rate'. The absence of the notation for 'pitch', in the above 
case, is equivalent to 'middle pitch'. 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



Extreme Amazement, 

[x] ' " Oh ! answer me : 

[oo] Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell 
[ = ] Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, 
\s. 5.] Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre, 
\a. p. q.l Wherein we saw thee quietly inurned, 
[Tremor.^ Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws, 

To cast thee up again ! [qJ What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, 
So horribly to shake our disposition, 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ?" 

Rule IV. Awe has usually a 'suppressed' force, a 'very 
low ' note, and a ' very slow ' movement. Solemnity, rever- 
ence, and sublimity, have a ' moderate ' force, a ' low ' note, 
and a * slow movement '. — All four of these emotions are ut- 
tered with 'effusive median stress', and deep, but 'pure', 'pec- 
toral quality'; together with a prevalent ' monotone'. 

Note. When great force is expressed in the language, the 
tone becomes ' loud ' in awe. 

Example of Awe. 
[ ] " O Thou uniitterable Potentate ! 

[o o] Through nature's vast extent, sublimely great ! — 
[=] But here, on these gigantic mountains, here, 
\ef. Thy greatness, glory, wisdom, strength, and spirit, 
m.s.l In terrible sublimity appear ! 
[pu. Thy awe-imposing voice is heard, — we hear it ! — 
t. The Almighty's fearful voice : attend ! It breaks 
jo.g.] The silence, and in solemn warning speaks, 
[o o] Thou breathest ! [j ^ ^ — ] forest oaks of centuries 

Turn their uprooted triinks towards the skies, 
[o o] Thou thiinderest! [IIqo =] adamantine mountains break, 
Tremble, and totter, and apart are riven ! 
[o o] At God's almighty will, 
[lo — ^]The affrighted world falls headlong from its sphere ! 
[oo =]Planets, and suns, and sj^stems disappear!" 

Solemnity. 
[ol[ — ^ " Father ! tby hand 

\ef. Hath reared these venerable columns ; Thou 
m.s.l I^idst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 



64 



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[part 1. 



{pu.t. Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 

p-q.] All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy siin, 

Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 
And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, 
As now they stand, massy and tall and dark, 
[Xqo =]Fit shrine for hiimble worshipper to hold 
Commiimon with his Maker !" 

Reverence, 
[x Q — ] " Oh ! let me often to these solitudes 
[ef. m. s.] Retire, and in Thy presence reassure 
[pu.t.p.q.] My feeble virtue. Here, its enemies, 

The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink, 
[>] And tremble, and are still. 

[xx o o =] Be it ours to meditate, 
In these calm shades, Thy milder majesty. 
And, to the beautiful order of Thy works, 
Learn to conform the order of our lives ! " 

Sublimity. 
[o — ] " Hail ! holy Light, offspring of heaven first born, — 

[ef. Or, of the Eternal, coeternal beam 
m. s.] May I express thee unblamed ? since God is Light, 
[pro. And never but in unapproached light 
q.] Dwelt from eternity, — dwelt then in thee. 
Bright effluence of bright essence increate ; 
[o o] Or hearst thou, rather, piire ethereal stream. 

Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun, 
Before the heavens thou wert, and, at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 
The rising world of waters, dark and deep. 
Won from the void and formless infinite.' 

Rule V. Revenge is ' loud ' and ' low ' in utterance : when 
deliberate, it is ' slow ', — when violent, it is ' quick': it has 
the ' median stress '; and ' aspirated ' ' pectoral ' and ' guttural 
quality', combined. It is marked by a prevalent ' downward 
slide'. 

Example 1. 

[I I] " ON them, hussars ! — Now give them rein and heel ! 
[ci Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire : 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



65 



[ezpul. Earth cries for blood, — [| |] in THUNDER on them 

S.] WH^EL I 

[oro.q.] This hour to Europe's fate shall set the trItjmph seal !" 

[I |] 2. Shylock. " There I have another bad match : a 

[o] BANKRUPT, a PRODIGAL, who dare scarce show his 

[u] head on the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used to come 

[expul.s.] so smug upon the mart : let him look to his bond : 

[h. g. ^ he was wont to call me usurer ; let him look to 

pec. qJ\ HIS BOND : he was wont to lend money for a 

CHRISTIAN 6OURTESY: LET HIM LOOK 

TO HIS BdND ! " 

Rule VI. Scorn is characterized by ' loudness', by drawl- 
ing 'slowness', and a tone which, in the emphatic words, 
begins on a ' high' and slides to a ' low ' note ; by ' thorough 
stress', and often, a laughing ' tremor', making the beginning, 
the middle, and the end, of every emphatic sound, distinct, 
and prominent, and cutting to the ear. The ' quality ' of the 
voice in this tone, is strongly ' aspirated', but not ' guttural': 
the ' inflection ' is usually ' falling', but, sometimes, becomes 
the ' wave ', or ' circumflex '. 

Example 1. 
^^Thou SLAVE, THOU WRETCH, THOU CdW- 

ARD ! ^ 
Thou little valianty great in vtllany ! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety .'" 

2. "PaZe,TRl:MBLiNG, CbWARDl— [Tremor.] 
there I throw my gage : 
By that, and all the rights of knighthood elsCj 
Will I make good against thee, ar7n to Irm, 
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise." 

Rule VII. Indignation is marked by full ' loudness', ' low* 
note, and deliberate * slowness '; a swelling ' median stress '; 
and the effect arising from the blending of ' pectoral ' and 
* guttural ' tone, to all the extent consistent with ' pure ' ' oro- 
tund', in vehement style. The characteristic inflection is 
uniformly ' falling '. 

[ I ] Exam. " In this complicated crisis of ddngert 

[o] weakness, and calamity, terrified and insulted by 
6^ 



[II] 

[th.s.] 
[a.o.q.] 



[II -1 
[th. s.] 
[a. q.] 



66 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part I. 



[ — ] the neighboring powers^ unable to act in America, 
[expul.m.s.l or acting only to be destroyed, where II is the 
[oro.q.l MAN II who will venture to flatter us with the hope 
of success from perseverance in measures pro- 
ductive of these dire effects? — Who | has the 
EFFRONTERY to attempt it ? WHERE II is that 
man ? Let him, if he DARE, stand forward, 
and SHOW his face." 
Rule VIII. Courage, joy, ardent love, and ardent admira- 
tion, are distinguished by ' loud', ' high', and ' lively ' utter- 
ance ; swelling 'median stress'; perfectly smooth and 'pure' 
'quality' of tone; and frequent 'falling' inflections. 

Note. Joy is sometimes expressed by ' tremor ', ardor by 
* aspiration ', and courage by ' orotund' utterance. 

Example 1. Courage and Ardent Admiration. 

Now I for the fight ! — noiv \ for the cannon 

BLOOD, and toil, and 



[II] 
1-003 

[uu] 

[expul.r.s.] 

[pro. q.] 



peal 



SHOCK, the CRASH of 



FORWARD !— through 

CLOUD, and FIRE ! 
Glorious — the shout, the 

stI:el, 

The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire !" 
2. Joy. 
" Thou Child of Joy ! 
Shout round me : let me hear thy shouts, thou hap' 
py Shepherd Boy .'" 
3. Ardent Love and Admiration. 
[I] " Oh ! speak again, bright angel ; for thou art 

[°] As glorious to this sight, being o'er my head, 
[u] As is a winged messenger of heaven 
[77^.5.] Unto the white upturned wondering eyes 
[pw.o.g.] Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, 
[#] W^hen he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, 
And sails upon the bosom of the air." 
Rule IX. Excessive grief and sorrow, are expressed by 
* loud ' ' high ' and ' slow ' utterance ; ' tremor', or ' intermittent 
stress'; and ' pure ' ' quality ', — where not interrupted by sob, 
or ' aspiration'. The ' falling inflection' prevails throughout 
the utterance of these emotions. 

Example. 
[I] [°] " Capulet. 'Ha I let me see her '.—Out, aids ! she 's cold : 
i — ] Her blood is settled ; and her joints are stiff'; 



PART I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



67 



Life and these lips have long been separated ; 
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost 
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
Accursed time ! unfortunate old man V " 

''Lady Capulet. ' Accursed, unhappy, wretched, 
HATEFUL day \ 
Most MISERABLE hour that e'e?- time saw, 
In lasting labor of his pilgrimage ! 
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, 
But one thing to rejoice and solace in, 
And cruel d^ath j hath catched it from my sight ! ' " 



[a. q.] 
[tr.] 

[sob] 
[11] 

[-] 

[explo.s.] 

[tr.] 

[a. q.] 

[sob] 

Rule X. Moderate grief and sorroio, pity, and tender love 
and admiration, are expressed by ' softened force', ' high' 
notes, and slow ' movement '; by prolonged and swelling 
* median stress'; and by ' pure', but ' chromatic', or plaintive 
utterance. The ' rising inflection', in the form of 'sem- 
itone', (half tone,) prevails in the expression of these emo- 
tions. 

Example of Moderate Grief. 

[x] " Enamored death, with sweetly pensive grace, 

\°] Was aiuful beauty to his silent face. 
[ — ] No more his sad eye looked me into tlars ! 
\m.s.] Closed was that eye, beneath his pale, cold brow; 
[pu. And on his cahn lips, which had lost their glow, 

q.] But which, though pale, seemed half-unclosed to spiak, 

[[)] Loitered a smile, like moonlight: on the snow." 

Pity. 
" Morn came again ; 
But the young lamb was dead. 
Yet the poor mother's fond distress 
Its every art had tried 
[j9M. q.] To shield, with sleepless tenderness, 
[[>] The weak one at her side. 

Round it, all night, she gathered warm 

Her woolly limbs, — her head 
Close curved across its feeble form ; 
Day dawned, and it was dead. — 
=] It lay before her stiff' and cold, — 
Yet fondly she essayed 
To cherish it in love's warm fold ; 
Then restless trial made, 



w 

[°] 
[-] 

[m. s.] 



[xx 



68 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[PAET U 



Moving, with still reverted face, 

And low, complaining bleat, 
To entice from their damp resting place 

Those little stiffening feet." 

Tender Love and Admiration. 
[x] ^^Hushed were his Gertrude's lips, but still their bland 
[°] And beautiful expression ' seemed to melt 

[ — ] With love that could not die ! and still his hand 
[m.s.] She presses to the heart no more that felt, 
[pu.q.'] [o] Ah ! heart, luhere once each fond affection dwelt, 
[y And features \ yet \ that spoke a soul more fair /" 

Rule XL Impatience, eagerness, and hurry, are denoted 
by ' loud ' ' high ', and ' quick movement '; impatience, by 
' vanishing ', or final ' stress '; eagerness, by ' expulsive me- 
dian stress'; hurry, by abrupt ' radical ' or initial ' explosive ' 
' stress ': all three emotions are sometimes marked by the 
'tremor', and by 'aspirated', and sometimes, ' anhelose ' or 
panting uiXexoxiZQ,— eagerness occasionally by the ' orotund '. 
The ' falling inflection ' characterizes the tones of these emo- 
tions. 

Example of Impatience. 

[l] '^Mortimer. Fie ! cousin Percy, — ^how you cross my 

[°] father ! 

[u] Hotspur. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers me, 
\ezplo. "With telling me of the moldivarp and the ant, 
V. s.] Of the dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies ; 
\a. q.l And of a dragon, and a finless fish, 

A clip-iuinged griffin, and a moulten raven, 

A couching lion, and a ramping cat, 

And such a deal of skimble skamble sTtFF, 

As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, — - 

He held me, but last night, at least nine hours, 

In reckoning up the several devils' names 

That were his lackeys : I cried ' humph V — and ' idW, V 

' go to V — 
But marked him not a word. Oh ! he 's as tedious 
As is a tired horse, a railing imfe ; 
Worse than a smoky house : — I had rather live 
With cheese and garlic in a WINDMILL, far, 
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, 
In any summer-house in Christendom." 



PAET 1,3 



S.SADER AND SPEAKER, 



Eagerness. 
[I] ''Hotspur. Send danger from the ^ast unto tlie west^ 
[°] So honor cross it from the north to souths 
[uj And let them grapple : — Oh ! the blood more stirs, 
f£xpuL To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. 

V. s.] By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap, 
lorv.q.]To plack bright honor from the pale-faced moon; 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground^ 
And pluck up droi,^'ned honor by the locks : 
So he that doth redeem her thence, might wear. 
Without co-rival, all her dignities." 
Hurry. 
[\\ ° V u] " Sisters J hence, with spurs of speed 1 
Each her thundering falchion imeld ; 
\explo. r. 5.] Ea>ch bestride her sable steed : 
[a. q.] 'HiJRRY ! HtRRY to the field T 

Eule XII. Melancholy is distinguished by •'soft', or faint 
and languid utterance, ' very low pitch', and ' very slow 
movement'; a gentle 'vanishing stress'; 'pure' but * pectoral' 

* quality'; and the ' monotone ', or, occasionally, the plaintive 
"* semitone'. 

Example. 
[xx] " To-moiTow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
too] Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
[ = ] To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
\y. s.] And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
^^w. ^.] The way to dusty death. — Out, out, brief candle ! 
\jpec. g.] Life 's but a walking shadow, — a poor player, 
That striits and frets his hour upon the stage, 
[>] And then II is heard no more." 

Rule XIII. Despair has a 'softened force', a ^ very low' 
note, and a ' very slow movement '; ' vanishing stress '; deep 

* pectoral quality '; and a prevalent ' falling inflection ' or an 
utter ' monotone '- 

Example. 

[x] " I have lived long enough ; my way of life 

[o o] Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf: 
[= ] And that which should accompany old age^ 
[v. 5.] As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,, 
\P-9.'\ ^ 'inUst not look to have ; but, in their stead, 



to AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT I. 

CtiRSES, -not loud, but deep, mouth-honor^ breath, 
Which the 'poor heart would fain deny^ but dare not." 

Rule XIV. 'Remorse has a subdued or ' softened' force, 
very ' low pitch', and ' slow movement'; a strongly marked 
' vanishing stress '; a deep ' pectoral ' and ' aspirated' ' qual- 
ity '; and a prevailing ' falling inflection'", with, occasionally, 
the ' monotone'. 

Example. 
W[oo] " Oh ! my offence \ is rank, — ^it smells to heaven : 
[ — ] It hath the primal \ eldest [ curse | upon ^t, 
[s.<|* A brother's I murder! — Pray can 1 not, 
v.s.l Though inclination be as sharp as will ; 
[a.pec. My stronger guilt !1 defeats my strong inthtt, — 
g.] Oh ! WRETCHED State ! Oh ! bosom, hlack as b^ath \ 
Oh ! LIMED soul, that, struggling to be /ree, 
Art more engaged /" 

Note. Self-reproach has a tone similar to the preceding, 
but less in the extent of each property, except ' force', in 
which it exceeds remorse, and ' pitch', in which it is higher. 

Example. 
[I] " Oh ! what a rogue and peasant slave am ^l! 
[ — "] Is it not MONSTROUS that this player here, 
\v. 5.] But in a fiction, a dream of passion, 
[a. q.] Could force his soul so to his own conceit^ 

That, from her working, all his visage wanned. 

Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 

A broken voice, and his ivhole function suiting 

With forms to his conceit '? And all for nothing ! 

For Hecuba ! 

What 's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 

That he should weep for her. What would he do, 

Had he the motive and the cue for passion. 

That ^I have ? He would drown the stage | with tears. 

And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ! 

Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, 

Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed. 

The very faculties of eves and ears." 

Rule XV. Mirth is distinguished by ' loud,^ ' high,' and 

* quick' utterance ; and an approach to the rapid, repeate " 

* explosions ' of laughter, in a greater or less degree, accord- 
ing to the nature of the passage which contains the emotion. 



n 



PAKT I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER, 



71 



To these properties are added ' aspirated quality', and the 

* falling inflection', as a predominating one. 

[II ° u] "A FOOL, A FOOL ! I MET A FOOL i' the forest, 
[explo. 5.] A MOTLEY FOOL ; — u miserable world; 

[&. q.] As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
[Laughing Who laid him doivn, and backed him in the sun, 

voice.] And railed on lady FortuTie j in good terms, 
In GOOD SET TERMS, and yet a motley fool !" 

Rule XVI. Gaiety and cheerfulness are marked by ' mode- 
rate force', ' high pitch', and ' lively movement '; moderate 

* radical stress '; and smooth, ' pure quality ' of tone, with va- 
ried * inflections'. 

Example, 
pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be 



Celia. I 



n 

[u] merry. 

[r. s.] Rosalind. Well, I will forget the condition of my 
[pu.t.] estate, to rejoice in yours. — From henceforth I will, 
[^] coz, and devise sports; let me see ; what think you of 
falling in love ? 

Celia. I pry thee, do, to make sport withal ; but love 
no man in good earnest. 

Rosalind. What shall be our sport, then ? 
Celia. Let us sit and mock the good houseioife, Fbr- 
tune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth 
be bestowed equally. 

Rosalind. I would we could do so ; for her benefits 
are mightily misplaced : and the bountiful \ blind ' 
woman | doth most mistake her gifts to womenJ'* 

Rule XVII. Tranquillity, serenity, and repose, are indi- 
cated by 'moderate force', 'middle pitch', and 'moderate 
movement '; softened ' median stress '; ' smooth ' and ' pure ' 
' quality ' of tone ; and moderate inflections. 

Example. 
[] [] [] ^ " How sweet the m.oonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
\m. s.] Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
\sm. q.] Creep in our ^ars ! soft stillness, and the night, 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 

Look how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ! 
There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st. 



'Middle pitch', 'moderate force', and 'moderate movement' 



72 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET 1. 

But [ in his motion [ like an angel | sings, 
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim : 
Such harmony is in immortal souls !" 

The careful study and practice of tones cannot be too strongly 
urged on the attention of young readers. Reading, devoid of tone, is 
cold, monotonous, and mechanical, and false, in point of fact. It de- 
feats the main end of reading, which is to impart thought in its natu- 
ral union with feeling. Faulty tones not only mar the effect of 
expression, but offend the ear, by their violation of taste and pro- 
priety. Reading can possess no interest, speech no eloquence, with- 
out natural and vivid tones. 

The foregoing examples should be practised with close attention, 
and persevering diligence, till every property of voice exemplified in 
them, is perfectly at command. 



§ XL APPROPRIATE BIODIJLATION. 

The word ' modulation ' is the term applied, in elocution, 
to those changes of ' force', ' pitch', and ' movement', ' stress', 
' quality', and ' inflection', which occur, in continuous and 
connected reading, in passing from the peculiar tone of one 
emotion to that of another. ' Modulation', therefore, is no- 
thing else than giving to each tone, in the reading or speaking 
of a whole piece, its appropriate character and expression. 

The first practical exercise w^hich it v/ould be most advantageous 
to perform, in this department of elocution, is, to turn back to the 
exercises on 'versatility' of voice, and repeat them till they can be 
executed with perfect facility and precision. The next exercise 
should be a review, without the reading of the intervening rules, of 
all the examples given under the head of ' tones'. A very extensive 
and varied practice will thus be secured in ' modulation'. It should 
be required of the pupil, while performing this exercise, to watch 
narrowly, and state exactly, every change of tone, in passing from 
one example to another. The third course of exercise in ' modula- 
tion', is to select those of the pieces contained in this book, which 
are marked for that purpose, as the notation will indicate. A fourth 
course of practice may be taken on pieces marked in pencil, by the 
pupils themselves, under the supervision of the teacher. 

This statement will, it is thought, be a sufficient explanation of 
the reason why no separate exercises are given under the head of 
modulation, in Part I. of this volume. The closing remarks of Sec- 
tion X. apply equally to ^ XI. 



Suggestio'ns to Teachers. 
The compilers of this volume are well aware, that, in numerous 
schools, it is exceedingly difficult to command snfficient time for the 



PART. I.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



73 



thorough and effectual performance of exercises in reading, and still 
more so, to find time for the systematic study of elocution : they 
would, however, respectfully suggest, that, as the complaint against 
bad reading is still so loud and general, some efforts for the removal 
of the grounds of this complaint, must be made. If so, these ef- 
forts, to be successful, must be systematic ; and, if systematic, they 
cannot be hurried and superficial. Every teacher can best decide, in 
his own case, how much time he can create for such purposes. But 
it would, at all events, be practicable to make time by diminishing 
the quantity of reading usually attempted in a lesson. — A class who 
have learned in a day, to read one paragraph distinctly and impress- 
ively, have done more than has heretofore been effected, in successive 
YEARS of desultory and irregular practice. 

*^* Teachers and students who wish for a more extensive state- 
ment of the general principles of elocution, or to devote their atten- 
tion to the subject of gesture in connexion with declamation, may 
find it serviceable to peruse the American Elocutionist,* by one of 
the editors of the present work. 



* The American Elocutionist ; comprising ' Lessons in Enunciation', 
'Exercises in Elocution', and 'Rudiments of Gesture '; with a Selection 
of new Pieces for practice in Reading and Declamation ; and engraved 
Illustrations in Attitude and Action, Designed for Colleges, Professional 
Institutions, Academies, and Common Schools. By William Russell. 
Boston ; Jenks and Palmer. 



II 



i 



PART IL—PIECES FOR PRACTICE IN READ- 
ING AND DECLAMATION. 



LESSON I. REASON AND SPEECH. J. Q. ADAMS. 

[This piece is an example of what is rhetorically termed didactic 
style. Compositions of this class, are designed for the purpose of 
information or instruction, and thus are distinguished from narrative 
and descriptive writings, the design of which is to relate events, or 
incidents, — as in history and anecdote, — or to describe places and ob- 
jects, — as in geographical works, and books of travels. 

The management of the voice in reading, should always corres- 
pond to the nature and character of the subject, in the passage which 
is read. Thus, in narrative and descriptive pieces, the tone is usually 
lively, grave, gay, moderate, or pathetic, according to the feelings 
which are naturally excited by the story, or the description. 

The chief characteristics of expression, in didactic pieces, which, — 
though often earnest and forcible, — are usually serious and grave in 
tone, are the following : — the ' pitch ' and predominating note, are 
rather lower than the habitual level of the voice, in common conversa- 
tion ; — the ' force', sufficient for audible and impressive reading in 
public ;* — and the ' movement ' slow enough for serious, distinct, impres- 
sive effect. — The ' quality ' of the voice in utterance should be round, 
firm, and smooth, — the ' stress ' is radical, but moderate. f] 

The peculiar ' t and highest ' characteristic, which dis- 
tinguishes man \ from the rest ' of the animal creation, is 
rIiason. It is by this attribute II that our species ' is con- 
stituted I the great link \ between the physical ' and the 
intellectual ' world. 

By our passions and appetites II we are placed on a level 
' with the herds of \he forest : by our reason II we partici- 
pate of the Divine nature itself. Formed of clay, and 
composed of dust, we are, in the scale of creation, little 

* This important distinction is often overlooked ; and young read- 
ers are consequently permitted to read in a tone utterly deficient in 
force. In some cases, however, the opposite error prevails ; and 
the pupils of a school are taught to call out their words rather than 
enunciate them. What the full conversational voice is to the parlor, 
should be the reading tone for the school-room and the public as- 
sembly. The style of public reading, should, on account of its 
advantages in training, always be the standard of the school-room. 

t See Part I., Sections on ' Quality' and ' Stress '. 

:j: For the use of this and other marks, see Part I., Sections on 
Pauses, Emphasis, and Inflections. — Section I. is designed to exem- 
plify the whole extent to which the system of notation is carried ia 
prose pieces. 



r. 



76 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL 

higher ' than the clod ' of the valley ;— endowed with r^a- 
son^ we are little loiver ' than the angels. It is by the 
gift of riason, that the human species ' enjoys the exclu- 
sive ' and inestimable privilege | of progressive imprdve- 
5 ment, and is enabled to avail itself | of the advantages ' of 
individual discovery. 

As the necessary adjunct ' and vehicle ' of reason, the 
faculty of SPEECH II was also bestowed, as an exclusive priv- 
ilege, upon man: — not the mere utterance of articulate 

10 sounds, — not the mere cries of passion, which he has ' in 
common, with the loiuer orders of animated nature ; but 
' as the conveyance of thought, — as the means of rational 
intercourse ' with his fellow-creatures, and of humble com- 
munion ' with his God. It is by the means of reason ' 

15 clothed with speech, that the most 'precious blessings ' of 
social life, are communicated ' from 'man to man, and that 
supplication, thanksgiving, and praise, are addressed ' to 
the Author oi the Universe. 

A faculty ' thus elevated, given us ' for so sublime a 

20 purpose, and destined to an end ' so excellent, was not in- 
tended ' by the supreme Creator | to be buried ' in the 
grave of neglect. As the source ' of all human improve- 
ments, it was ' itself \ susceptible of improvement II by 
industry and application, by observation and experience. 

25 Hence, wherever man has been found ' in a social state, 
and wherever he has been sensible ' of his dependence 
upon a supreme Disposer of events, the value \ and the 
power I of PUBLIC speaking, if not universally acknoiol- 
edged, have, at least, been universally felt. . 



lesson II. CULTIVATION OF THE BUND. S. REED. 

[This piece is intended as an exercise in the application of Rhe- 
torical Pauses, according to the Rules contained in the Section on 
Pausing, in Part I., page 25.] 

It was the design of Providence, that the infant mind | 
should possess the germ ' of every science. If it were 
not so, the sciences could hardly be learned. The care 
of God II provides ' for the flower of the field | a place ' 
wherein it may grow, regale the sense | with its fra- 
grance, and delight the soul | with its beauty. Is his prov- 
idence ' less active | over those, to whom this flower 
oflers its incense ? — No. The soil ' which produces the 
vine II in its most healthy luxuriance, is not better adapted 



it 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



77 



to that end, than the world we inhabit, to draw forth the 
latent energies of the soul, and fill them ' with life ' and 
vigor. As well might the eye | see ' without light, or 
the ear | hear ' without sound, as the human mind | be 
5 healthy ' and athletic | without descending into the natu- 
ral world, and breathing the mountain air. 

Is there aught in Eloquence | which warms the heart ? 
She draws her fire ' from natural imagery. Is their aught 
in Poetry | to enliven the imagination ? There | is the 

10 secret ' of all her power. Is there aught in Science | to 
add strength ' and dignity ' to the human mind ? The nat- 
ural world II is only the body, of which ' she | is the soul. 
In books, science ' is presented to the eye of the pupil, as 
it were, in a dried ' and preserved ' state. The tim.e may 

15 come, when the instructor ' will take him by the hand, 
and lead him ' by the running streams, and teach him all 
the principles of Science, as she comes from her Maker ; 
as he would smell ' the fragrance of the rose, without 
gathering it. 

20 This love of nature ; this adaptation of man ' to the 

place assigned him ' by his heavenly Father ; this fulness 

' of the mind II as it descends into the works of God, — 

is something, which has been felt ' by every one, — though 

to an imperfect degree, — and ' therefore | needs no ex- 

25 planation. It is the part of science, that this ) be no long- 
er ' a blind affection ; but ' that the mind ' be opened | to 
a just perception ' of what it is, which it loves. The af- 
fection, which the lover first feels ' for his future wife, 
may be attended ' only by a general sense ' of her exter- 

30 nal beauty ; but his mind ' gradually opens | to a percep- 
tion of the peculiar features of the soul, of which ' the 
external appearance | is only an image. So it is ' with 
nature. Do we love to gaze on the sun, the moon, the 
stars, and the planets ? This affection | contains ' in its 

35 bosom I the whole science of astronomy, as the seed ' 

contains the future tree. It is the office of the instructor 

' to give it an existence ' and a name, by making known 

the laws, which govern the motions of the heavenly 

bodies, the relation of these bodies to each other, and 

40 their uses. 

Have we felt delight ' in beholding the animal creation, 

— in watching their pastimes ' and their labors ? It is the 

office of the instructor ' to give birth to this affection, by 

describing the different classes of animals, with their pe- 

7# 



78 



AMERICAN COMMON -SCHOOL 



[part n. 



culiar characteristics, which inhabit the earth, the air, and 
the sea. Have we knov/n the inexpressible pleasure | of 
beholding the beauties ' of the vegetable world? This 
affection | can only expand ' in the science of botany. 
Thus it is, that the love of nature ' in the mass II may be- 
come the love of all the sciences, and the mind will grow 
and bring forth fruit II from its own inherent power of de- 
velopment. 



LESSON ni. PHYSICAL EDUCATION. DR. HUMPHREY. 

[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses.] 
That I is ' undoubtedly | the wisest ' and best regimen, 
which takes the infant ' from the cradle, and conducts him 
along, through childhood ' and youth, up to high matu- 
rity, in such a manner ' as to give strength ' to his arm, 
5 smftness • to his feet, solidity ' and amplitude ' to his 
muscles, symmetry ' to his frame, and expansion ' to his 
vital energies. It is obvious, that this branch of educa- 
tion I comprehends, not only food ' and clothing, but air, 
exercise, lodging, early rising, and whatever else ' is re- 

10 quisite to the full development ' of the physical constitu- 
tion. The diet | must be simple, the apparel | must not 
be too warm, nor the bed | too soft. 

Let parents | beware ' of too much restriction | in the 
management ojf their darling boy. Let him, in choosing 

15 his play, follow the suggestions of nature. Let them not . 
be discomposed | at the sight of his sand-hills ' in the 
road, his snow-forts ' in February, and his mud-dams ' in 
April : nor when they chance to look out ' in the midst of 
an August shower, and see him wading ' and sailing, and 

20 sporting ' along with the water-fowl. If they would make 
him hardy ' and fearless, they must let him go abroad ' as 
often as he pleases, in his early boyhood, and amuse him- 
self ' by the hour together, in smoothing ' and twirling ' 
the hoary locks of winter. Instead of keeping him shut 

25 up ' all day ' with a stove, and graduating his sleeping- 
room ' by Fahrenheit, they must let him face the keen 
edge of a north wind, when the mercury ' is below cipher, 
and, instead of minding a little shivering ' and complain- 
ing when he returns, cheer up his spirits and send him 

30 out again. In this way, they will teach him ' that he 
was not born to live in the nursery, nor to brood over the 
fire ; but to range abroad, as free as the snow ' and the air, 
and to gain warmth ' from exercise. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 79 

I love ' and admire ' the youth, who turns not back 
' from the howling wintry blast, nor withers ' under the 
blaze of summer; who never magnifies 'mole-hills into 
mountains '; but whose daring eye, exulting, scales the 
5 eagle's airy crag, and who is ready to undertake any thing 
' that is prudent and lawful, within the range of possibil- 
ity. Who would think ' of planting the mountain oak ' 
in a green-house ? or of rearing the cedar of Lebanon • 
in a lady's flower-pot ? Who does not know, that, in or- 
10 der to attain their mighty strength ' and majestic forms, 
they must freely enjoy the rain ' and the sunshine, and 
must feel the rocking of the tempest ? 



LESSON IV. SELF-EDUCATION. D. A. WHITE. 

[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses^ 

Education is the personal and practical concern of 
every individual, and at all periods of life. — Those | who 
have been favored ' with advantages of early instruction, 
or ' even ' with a course of liberal education, ought to 
5 consider it ' rather as a good foundation to build upon, 
than as a reason ' for relaxing | in their efforts ' to make 
advances in learning. The design of early education, it 
should be remembered, is not so much to accumulate in- 
formation, as to develop, invigorate, and discipline ' the 

10 faculties ; to form habits of attention, observation, and in- 
dustry, and ' thus | to prepare the mind | for more exten- 
sive acquirements, as well as for a proper discharge ' of 
the duties of life. 

Those, who have not the privileges of early instruction, 

15 must feel the stronger inducement | to avail themselves ' 
of all the means ' and opportunities ' in their power, for 
the cultivation of their minds | and the acquisition of 
knowledge. It can never be too late II to begin | or to 
advance | the work of improvement. They will find dis- 

20 tinguished examples of success | in the noble career of 
self-education, to animate their exertions. These will 
teach them, that no condition in life | is so humble, no 
circumstances | so depressing, no occupation | so labori- 
ous, as to present insuperable obstacles to success | in the 

25 acquisition of knowledge. All such disheartening obsta- 
cles, combined, may be surmounted, as they have been ' 
in a thousand instances, by resolute ' and persevering de- 
termination ' to overcome. 



80 



AMERICAN COMMON- SCHOOL 



{part n. 



Some of the most celebrated philosophers of antiquity, 
rose from the condition of slaves ; and many of the most 
learned | among the moderns, have educated themselves II 
under circumstances ' scarcely less depressing" | than those 
5 of servitude. Heyne,^ the first classical scholar of Ger- 
many, during the last century, and the brightest ornament 
I of the university of Gottingen,t raised himself ' from 
the depths of poverty, by his own persevering, determined 
spirit of application, rather than by the superior force of 

10 his natural genius. Gifford, the elegant translator of Ju- 
venal, struggled with poverty ' and hardships | in early 
life, and nobly persevered, till he gained the high rewards 
of British learning ; and Ferguson, the celebrated astron- 
omer ' and mechanician, was the son of a day-laborer, 

15 and, at an early age, was placed at service | with several 
farmers ' in succession ; yet, without teachers, and almost 
without means ' of instruction, he attained to high rank | 
among the philosophers of his age, and, as a lecturer, was 
listened to | by the most exalted, as well as the humblest | 

20 in rank and station. By his clear and simple manner 
' of teaching the physical sciences, he rendered the 
knowledge of them ' more general, than it had ever before 
been ' in England ; and | through his learned publica- 
tions I he became ' also ' the instructor of colleges ' and 

25 universities. 

All these extraordinary men II have left memoirs of 
themselves, detailing the struggles ' through which they 
have passed, which will forever teach persevering resolu- 
tion, against opposing obstacles, to all ' who have a love 

80 of knowledge | or a desire of improvement. What en- 
couragement ' may they not afford | to those who have no 
such struggles to encounter, and who can obtain | without 
difficulty I the means of instructing themselves ! There 
would seem to be no apology, at the present day, in this 

35 country | at least, for extreme ignorance, in any situation 
' or condition ' of life. The most valuable knowledge, 
that which is essential to moral cultivation, is certainly 
within the reach of all. 

Innumerable | are the instances of successful self-in- 

40 struction, not only among men of bright natural talents, 



* Pronounced, Hinay. 

t The 0, in this word, is not sounded as in any English word : 
it resembles ceu, in the French word cceur, — the ng sound as in the 
English word singer. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 81 

but among those of apparently moderate powers ; not only 
against the force of early disadvantages, but against that 
• of the most adverse circumstances | of active ' and pub- 
lic ' employment. The highest honors of learning | have 
5 been won II amidst laborious professional duties | and the 
pressing cares of state. Hardy seamen, too, who have 
spent their days | in conflict with the storms of the ocean, 
have found means ' to make themselves distinguished | in 
science ' and literature, as well as by achievements in 

10 their profession. The lives of Columbus, Cook, and Lord 
Collingwood II gloriously attest this fact. Our own coun- 
try I has produced her full proportion ' of self-taught men, 
— statesmen | and civilians, philosophers | and men of 
science. At their head II stand Washington | and Frank- 

15 lin, neither of whom | enjoyed, in early life, advantages 
of education, equal ' to those which are afforded ' by some 
of our free schools | to the humblest of the people. 



LESSON V. CHARACTER OF TRUE ELOQUENCE. WEBSTER. 

[This, and the two following pieces, are meant to be studied, 
and marked in pencil, by pupils, themselves, — under the guidance, 
at first, of the teacher. The marking to be appUed as an exten- 
sion of practice on Rhetorical Pauses.^ 

When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous 
occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong 
passions excited, nothing is valuable, in speech, farther 
than it is connected with high intellectual and moral en- 
5 dowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the 
qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, in- 
deed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought 
from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they 
will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled 

10 in every way, — they cannot compass it. It must exist 
in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected 
passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all 
may aspire after it, — they cannot reach it. It comes, if it 
come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the 

15 earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with sponta- 
neous, original, native force. 

The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments, 
and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust 
men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, 

20 their children, and their country, hang on the decision of 
the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric 



82 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[PAET n. 



is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even 
genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the 
presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is elo- 
quent : then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear concep- 
5 tion, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, 
the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the 
tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, 
and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his 
object, — this, this is eloquence : or rather it is something 
10 greater and higher than all eloquence, — it is action, noble, 
sublime, godlike action. 



LESSON VI. INDUSTRY INDISPENSABLE TO THE ORATOR. 

H. WARE, JR. 
[To be marked for Rhetorical Pauses, by the reader.] 
The history of the world is full of testimony to prove 
how much depends upon industry ; not an eminent orator 
has lived but is an example of it. Yet, in contradiction 
to all this, the almost universal feeling appears to be, that 
5 industry can effect nothing, that eminence is the result of 
accident, and that every one must be content to remain 
just what he may happen to be. Thus multitudes, who 
come forward as teachers and guides, suffer themselves to be 
satisfied with the most indifferent attainments, and a miser- 
10 able mediocrity, without so much as inquiring how they 
may rise higher, much less making any attempt to rise. 

For any other art they would have served an appren- 
ticeship, and would be ashamed to practise it in public 
before they had learned it. If any one would sing, he 
15 attends a master, and is drilled in the very elementary 
principles ; and only after the most laborious process 
dares to exercise his voice in public. This he does, 
though he has scarce any thing to learn but the mechani- 
cal execution of what lies in sensible forms before the 



20 



eye. 



But the extempore speaker, who is to invent as well as 
to utter, to carry on an operation of the mind as well as 
to produce sound, enters upon the work without prepara- 
tory discipline, and then wonders that he fails ! If he 
25 were learning to play on the flute for public exhibition, 
what hours and days would he spend in giving facility to 
his fingers, and attaining the power of the sweetest and 
most expressive execution ! If he were devoting himself 
to the organ, what months and years would he labor, that 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 83 

he might know its compass, and be master of its keys, 
and be able to draw out, at will, all its various combina- 
tions of harmonious sound, and its full richness and deli- 
cacy of expression ! And yet he will fancy that the 
5 grandest, the most various and most expressive of all in- 
struments, which the infinite Creator has fashioned by 
the union of an intellectual soul with the powers of 
speech, may be played upon without study or practice ; 
he comes to it a mere uninstructed tyro, and thinks to 

10 manage all its stops, and command the whole compass of 
its varied and comprehensive power ! He finds himself a 
bungler in the attempt, is mortified at his failure, and set- 
tles it in his mind forever, that the attempt is vain. 

Success in every art, whatever may be the natural tal- 

15 ent, is always the reward of industry and pains. But 
the instances are many, of men of the finest natural ge- 
nius, whose beginning has promised much, but who have 
degenerated wretchedly as they advanced, because they 
trusted to their gifts, and made no efforts to improve. 

20 That there have never been other men of equal endow- 
ments with Demosthenes and Cicero, none would venture 
to suppose ; but who have so devoted themselves to their 
art, or become equal in excellence ? If those great men 
had been content, like others, to continue as they began, 

25 and had never made their persevering efforts for improve- 
ment, what would their countries have benefited from 
their genius, or the world have known of their fame ? — 
They would have been lost in the undistinguished crowd 
that sunk to oblivion around them. 



LESSON VII. GENIUS. ORVILLE DEWEY. 

[To be marked for Rhetorical Pauses, by the reader.] 

The favorite idea of a genius, among us, is of one who 
never studies, or who studies nobody can tell when, at 
midnight, or at odd times and intervals, and now and then 
strikes out, " at a heat," as the phrase is, some wonderful 
5 production. This is a character that has figured largely 
in the history of our literature, in the person of our Field- 
ings, our Savages, and our Steeles ; " loose fellows about 
town, or loungers in the country;" who slept in ale- 
houses, and wrote in bar-rooms ; who took up the pen as 
10 a magician's wand, to supply their wants, and, when the 
pressure of necessity was relieved, resorted again to their 



84 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



carousals. Your real genius is an idle, irregular, vaga- 
bond sort of personage ; who muses in the fields, or 
dreams by the fireside : whose strong impulses, — that is 
the cant of it, — must needs hurry him into wild irregular- 
5 ities, or foolish eccentricity ; who abhors order, and can 
bear no restraint, and eschews all labor ; such a one as 
Newton or Milton ! What! they must have been irregu- 
lar, else they were no geniuses. 

" The young man," it is often said, "has genius enough, 

10 if he would only study." Now the truth is, as I shall 
take the liberty to state it, that the genius will study ; it 
is that in the mind which does study : that is the very 
nature of it. I care not to say that it will always use 
books. All study is not reading, any more than all read- 

15 ing is study. 

Attention it is, — though other qualities belong to this 
transcendant power, — attention it is, that is the very soul 
of genius ; not the fixed eye, not the poring over a book, 
but the fixed thought. It is, in fact, an action of the 

20 mind, which is steadily concentrated upon one idea or 
one series of ideas, which collects in one point the rays of 
the soul, till they search, penetrate, and fire the whole train 
of its thoughts. And, while the fire burns within, the 
outside may be indeed cold, indifierent, negligent, absent 

25 in appearance ; he may be an idler or a wanderer, appar- 
ently without aim or intent ; but still the fire burns within. 
And what though "it bursts forth," at length, as has 
been said, " like volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original 
native force ? " It only shows the intense action of 

30 the elements beneath. What though it breaks like light- 
ning from the cloud ? The electric fire had been collect- 
ing in the firmament through many a silent, clear, and 
calm day. What though the might of genius appears in 
one decisive blow, struck in some moment of high debate, 

85 or at the crisis of a nation's peril ? That mighty energy, 
though it may have heaved in the breast of Demos- 
thenes, was once a feeble infant thought. A mother's eye 
watched over its dawning. A father's care guarded its 
early youth. It soon trod with youthful steps the halls of 

40 learning, and found other fathers to wake and to watch 
for it, even as it finds them here. It went on ; but si- 
lence was upon its path ; and the deep strugglings of the 
inward soul silently ministered to it. The elements 
around breathed upon it, and " touched it to finer issues." 



li 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 85 

The golden ray of heaven fell upon it, and ripened its ex- 
panding faculties. The slow revolutions of years slowly 
added to its collected energies and treasures ; till, in its 
hour of glory, it stood forth imbodied in the form of liv- 
5 ing, commanding, irresistible eloquence. 

The world wonders at the manifestation, and says, 
" Strange, strange, that it should come thus unsought, un- 
premeditated, unprepared ! " But the truth is, there is 
no more a miracle in it, than there is in the towering of 
10 the preeminent forest-tree, or in the flowing of the mighty 
and irresistible river, or in the wealth and waving of the 
boundless harvest. 

LESSON Vm. ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. ^W. C. BRTANT. 

[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses, m poetry.] 
Here ' are old trees, tall oaks | and gnarled pines, 
That stream ' with gray-green mosses ; here.j the ground 
Was never trenched by spade ; and flowers | spring up • 
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet | 
5 To linger here, among the flitting birds, 

And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds ' 
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, 
A fragrance ' from the cedars, thickly set ' 
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades, — 

10 Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old, — 

My thoughts ' go up the long ' dim ' path of years, 
Back ' to the earliest days of Liberty. 

Freedom ! thou art not, as poets ' dream, 
A fair young girl, with light ' and delicate limbs, 

15 And wavy tresses | gushing from the cap ' 

With which the Roman master ' crowned his slave | 
When he took ofl* the gyves. A bearded man, 
Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand II 
Grasps the broad shield, and one | the sword ; thy brow, 

20 Glorious in beauty | though it be, is scarred II . 
With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs II 
Are strong with struggling. Power | at thee has launched 
His bolts, and ' with his lightnings ' smitten thee ; 
They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven. 

25 Merciless power ) has dug thy dungeon deep, 
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, 
Have forged thy chain ; yet, while he deems thee bound. 
The links are shivered, and the prison walls | 
Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth, 
8 



86 AMERICAN CX)MM0N-SCHO0I, [PART ZS» 

As Springs the flame * above a burning pile, 
And shoutest to the nations, who return 
: Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor j flies. 

! Thy birthright | was not given ' by human hands : 

I 5 Thou wert twin-born ' with man. In pleasant fields, 

I While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, 

I To tend the quiet flock [ and watch the stars, 

I And teach the reed to uttei simple airs. 

I Thou [ by his side, amid the tangled wood, 

I 10 Didst war upon the panther ' and the wolf, 

i His only foes ; and thou ' with him ' didst draw 

; The earliest furrows ■' on the mountain side, 

j Soft ^ with the deluge. Tyranny himself, 

I Thy enemy, although of reverend look, 

\ 15 Hoary ' with many years, and far obeyed, 

Is later born ' than thou ; and j as he meets 
The grave defiance of thine elder eye, 
; The usurper [ trembles | in his fastnesses. 

Oh ! not yet | 
20 Mays't thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by ' 

Thy sword ; nor yet, Freedom ! close thy lids ^ 
In slumber ; for thine enemy [ never sleeps, 
And thou ' must watch ' and combat tl till the day 
Of the new earth ' and heaven. But wouldst thou rest 
25 Awhile | from tumult ' and the frauds of men. 
These old ' and friendly solitudes | invite 
Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees | 
Were young ' upon the unviolated earth, 
And yet the moss-stains ' on the rock | were new, 
30 Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 



LESSON IX. SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

[To be marked for Ehetorical Pauses.} 

I stood upon the hills, where heaven's wide arch 
Was glorious with the sun's returning march. 
And woods were brightened, and soft gales 
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. 
5 The clouds were far beneath me : — bathed in light 
They gathered midway round the wooded height, 
And in their fading glory shone 
Like hosts in battle overthrown. 
As many a pinnacle with shifting glance, 
10 Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, 



PA.RT II.] EEADER AND SPEAKER, , ST 

And recking on the cliff was left 

The dark pine, blasted, bare, and cleft 
The veil of cloud was lifted, — and below 
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow 
S Was darkened by the forest's shade. 

Or glistened in the white cascade. 
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day. 
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. 

I heard the distant waters dash, — 
10 I saw the current whirl and flash ; — 
And richly, by the b^ue lake's silver beach. 
The woods were bending with a silent reach. 

Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, 

The music of the village-bell 
15 Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills *, 

And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland. fills, 

Was ringing to the merry shout 

That faint and far the gl^n sent out, — 
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke 
SO Through thick-leaved branches from the dingle broke. 

If thou art worn and hard beset 

With sorrows that thou wouldst forget, — • 
If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep 
Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep, 
25 Go to the woods and hills ! — No tears 

Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. 



LESSON X. THE CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. E. COOPER. 

[Tkis, and the two following pieces, are marked as exercises in 
application, of tke rules contained in the Section on Emphasis, Part I., 
page 28.] 

The true Christian must show that he is in earnest 
about religion. In the management of his worldly af- 
fairs, he must let it clearly be seen, that he is not influ- 
enced by a worldly mind ; that his heart is not upon 

5 earth ; that he pursues his worldly calling from a princi- 
ple of DITTY, not from a sordid love of gain ; and that, in 
truth, his treasures are in heaven. He must, therefore, 
fiot only " provide things honest in the sight of ail men ;" 
not only avoid every thing which is fraudulent and un- 

10 just in his dealings with others ; not only openly protest 
against those iniquitous practices which the custom of 
trade too frequently countenances and approves; — ^but, 
also, he must " let his moderaXion be known unto all men." 



88 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



He must not push his gains with seeming eagerness, even 
to the utmost lawful extent. He must exercise forbear- 
ance. He must be content with moderate profits. He 
must sometimes even forego advantages, which, in them- 

5 selves, he might innocently talte, lest he should seem to 
give any ground for suspecting that his heart is secretly 
set upon these things. 

Thus, also, with respect to ivorldly pleasures ; he must 
endeavor to convince men that the pleasures which reli- 

10 GioN furnishes, are far greater than those which the world 
can yield. While, therefore, he conscientiously keeps 
from joining in those trifling, and, too often, profane 
amusements, in which ungodly men profess to seek their 
happiness, he must yet labor to show, that, in keeping 

15 from those things, he is, in respect to real happiness, no 
loser, but even a gainer by religion. He must avoid 
every thing which may look like moroseness and gloom. 
He must cultivate a cheerfulness of spirit. He must en- 
deavor to show, in his whole deportment, the contentment 

20 and tranquillity which naturally flow from heavenly af 
fectiov^, from a mind at peace with God, and from a hope 
full of immortality. 

The spirit which ChrisHa7iity enjoins and produces, is 
so widely different from the spirit of the world, and so im- 

25 mensely superior to it, that, as it cannot fail of being wo- 
ticed, so it cannot fail of being admired, even by those 
who are strangers to its poioer. Do you ask in what par- 
ticulars thie spirit shows itself? I answer, in the exercise 
of humility, of meekness, of gentleness ; in a patient bear- 

30 ing of injuries ; in a readiness to forgive offences ; in a 
uniform endeavor to overcome evil with good ; in self-de- 
nial and disinterestedness ; in universal kindness and cour- 
tesy ; in slowness to wrath ; in an unioillingness to hear 
or to speak evil of others ; in a forwardness to defend, to 

35 advise, and to assist them ; in loving our enemies; in bless- 
ing them that curse us ; in doing good to them that hate 
us. These are genuine fruits of true Christianity. 

The Christian must " let his light shine before men," 
by discharging in a faithful, a diligent, and a consistent 

40 manner, the personal and particular duties of his station. 

As a member of society, he must be distinguished by a 

blameless and an inoffensive conduct ; by a simplicity and 

an ingenuousness of character, free from every degree of i 

guile; by uprightness a-nd Jidelity in all his engagements*} 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



m 



As a neighbor, he must be kind, friendly, and accommo- 
dating. His discourse must be mild and instructive. He 
must labor to prevent qioarrels, to reconcile those who dif- 
fer, to comfort the afiicted. In short, he must be " ready 
for e?;er?/ ^oo^ ivork ;'" and all his dealings with others 
must show the heavenly principle, which dwells and 
works in his heart. 



LESSON XI, — POPULAR GOVERNMENT.— DR. SHARP. 
[Marked for E7npkasis.] 

The recZ glory and prosperity of a nation does not con* 
sist in the hereditary rank or titled privileges of a very 
small class in the community ; in the great wealth of the 
feiu, and the great poverty of the man?/ ; in the splendid 
5 palaces of nobles, and the wretched huts of a minmrous and 
half famished peasantry. No ! such a state of things may 
give pleasure to proud, ambitious, and selfish minds, but 
there is nothing here on which the eye of a patriot can 
rest with unmingled satisfaction. In his deliberate judg- 
10 ment, 

"7ZZ fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ,• 
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade ; 
A BREATH can make them, as a breath has made^ : 
15 But a BOLD PEASANTRY, their country'' s pride, 

When once destroyed, can never be supplied^ 

It is an intelligent, virtuous, free, and extensive popula- 
tion, able, by their talents and industry, to obtain a com' 
petent support, which constitutes the strength and pros- 

20 perity of a nation, • 

It is not the least advantage of a popular government, 
that it brings into operation a greater amount of talent 
than any other. It is acknowledged by every one, that 
the occurrence of great events awakens the dormant ener- 

25 gies of the human mind, and calls forth the most splendid 
and powerful abilities. It was the momentous question, 
whether your country should be free and independent^ 
and the declaration that it was so, which gave to you ora- 
tors, statesmen, and generals, whose names all future ages 

30 will delight to honor. 

The characters of men are generally moulded by the 
circumstances in which they are placed. They seldom 
put forth their strength, without some powerfully exciting 
motit^es. But what motives can they have to qualify them- 



90 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II, 

selves for stations, from which they are forever excluded 
on account of plebeian extraction ? How can they be 
expected to prepare themselves for the service of their 
country, when they know that their services would be re- 
6 JECTED, because, unfortunately, they dissent from the 
established religion, and have honesty to avow it ! 

But in a country like ours, where the most obscure in- 
dividuals in society may, by their talents, virtues, and 
public services, rise to the most honorable distinctions, and 

10 attain to the highest offices which the people can give, the 
most effectual inducements are presented. It is indeed 
true, that only a few who run in the race for political honor, 
can obtain the prize. But, although many come shorty 
yet the exertions and the progress which they make, are 

15 Twt lost either on themselves or society. The suitableness 
of their talents and characters for some other important 
station, may have been perceived ; at least the cultivation 
of their minds, and the effort to acquire an honorable repu- 
tation, may render them active and useful members of the 

20 community. These are some of the benefits peculiar to a 
POPULAR government; benefits which we have long en- 
joyed. 

LESSON XII. REVERENCE FOR LAW. J. HOPKINSON. 

From a Eulogium on Hon. Bushrod Washington. — Trial of Gen- 
eral Bright, for obstructing the execution of a process of the 
Supreme Court of the United States. 

[The type indicates, as before, the degree of Emphasis.] 

Mark the oonduct of Pennsylvania, at this unprecedent- 
ed, trying crisis. Can she recede from her absolute asser- 
tion of right ? Can she take back her unqualified me- 
naces of resistance, and promises of protection to her 
5 citizens ? — A judge, in himself a iveak and helpless indi- 
vidual, supported by no power but the law, pronounces a 
sentence of criminal condemnation upon the assembled 
REPRESENTATIVES of the people, — upon their supreme ex- 
ecutive authority; upon THEMSELVES; and orders 

10 the minister of their will, surrounded by a military force 
under his command, to a COMMON GAOL.— And this 
is submitted to with a reverential awe ; not a murmur 
from the prisoner ; not a movement by the people, to rescue 
him from a punishment inflicted upon him for obeying 

15 their mandates, tor sustaining their authority ^ and defend- 



VAULT II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



91 



ing their interests. — And why ? — Because the law had 
spoken, — it was the judgment of the LAW. 

The people were wise and virtuous; they loved their 
country above all things ; and to her they loillingly sur- 
5 rendered their strength, their passions, their pride, and 
their interest. A jury of Pennsylvania, instructed and 
convinced that the supremacy of the law had been violat- 
ed, gave up the offenders, — their felloio-citizens, respected, 
and WORTHY of respect, — to its penalties. — What a judge ! 

10 — how fearless in his duty ! — What a people ! how 
magnanimous in their submission ! How worthy of each 
other ! No proud and passionate assertion of sovereignty ; 
no violent menaces of insulted power ; no rebellious defiance 
of the federal authority ; no inflximmatory combinations to 

15 resist it; and to shatter, in their madness, the beautiful 
fabric of our Union. 

In short, ?io nullification, — a neio and portentous word, 
— ^but a calm and noble submission to the concentrated 
power of all the States, in a government made and adopted 

20 by all ; which all are bound, by their solemn and pledged 
faith, by their hopes of peace, safety, and happiness, to 
maintain and obey. 

It is only by such efforts of patriotism that this great 
and growing Republic can be preserved. If, whenever the 

25 pride of a state is offended, or her selfishness rebuked, she 
may assume an attitude of defiance, may pour her ra^A 
and angry menaces on her confederated sisters, may claim 
a sovereignty altogether independent of them, and ac- 
knowledge herself to be bound to the Union by no ties but 

30 such as she may dissolve at pleasure ; we do indeed hold 
our political existence by a most precarious tenure ; and 
the future destinies of our country are as dark and uncer- 
tain, as the past have been happy and glorious. 

Happy is that country, and only that, where the lavjs 

35 are not only just and equal, but supreme and irresistible ; 
— where selfish interests and disorderly passions are curbed 
by an arm to which they must submit. — We look back 
with horror and affright to the dark and troubled ages, 
when a cruel and gloomy superstition tyrannized over the 

40 people of Europe ; dreaded alike by kings B.nd people; by 
governments and individuals ; before which the law had 
NO FORCE ; JUSTICE NO RESPECT ; and mercy no influence. 
The sublime precepts of morality, the kind and endearing 
charities ; the true "and rational reverence for a bountiful 



92 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 



Creator, which are the elements and the life of our reli- 
gion, were trampled upon in the reckless career of ambi- 
tion, PRIDE, and the lust of power. Nor was it much 
better when the arm of the warrior, and the sharpness of 
5 his sword, determined every question of right ; and held 
the weak in bondage to the strong ; and the revengeful 
feuds of the great, involved, in one common ruin, them.' 
selves and their humblest vassals. — These disastrous days 
are gone, tiever to return. There is no poiver but the 
10 LAW, which is the power of ALL ; and those who admin- 
ister it are the masters and the ministers of ALL. 



LESSON XIII. BIRTHPLACE OF LIBERTY. PROF. STUART. 

[This, and the two following pieces, are intended to be marked by 
the reader, as an exercise in applying the rules of Emphasis^ 

The members of the legislature^ now before me, are 
convened on holy ground. Here is the sacred place 
where liberty, in its best form, first struggled into being. 
This is the very spot where the pulsation of the heart of 
5 true freedom began to beat. I, who was born and nur- 
tured in another state, may venture to say this without 
the appearance of self-gratulation. The remembrance of 
early days rushes upon my mind, and rekindles the en- 
thusiasm with which I then read the story of your efforts 

10 and sufferings on this ground, in behalf of your country's 
freedom, while I bedewed with tears the pages which re- 
corded them. Increasing years have not diminished that 
feeling ; and it has been greatly augmented by a personal 
knowledge of this place and people. It is now my most 

15 fervent supplication to God, that here, where freedom be- 
gan, her reign may continue down to the end of time. 
Here may the flame of Christian liberty, which has been 
kindled, burn brighter and brighter, until states and em- 
pires shall be no more ! 

20 But if, in the inscrutable purposes of Heaven, and in 
judgment to our race, the cause of Freedom must again 
sink; if she is to be wounded in every part, and the cur- 
rent of her blood to be drained from every vein and artery 
of the body, — may the seat of life here still remain in 

25 action ! But if even the very heart too must be drained 
of its last drop, and life cease to beat, then let the funeral 
obsequies of human happiness be kept in solemn sadness ; 

* Of Massachusetts. 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



93 



let the heavens he hung with hlack, and the earth clothed 
with habiliments of mourning, in token of grief, that the 
liberty of man is no more. 

LESSON XIY. CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. Smyth. 

[To be marked for Emphasis, by the reaxier.] 
To the historian, few characters appear so little to have 
shared the common frailties and imperfections of human 
nature, as that of Washington. There are but few par- 
ticulars that can be mentioned even to his disadvantage. 
5 Instances may be found where, perhaps, it may be thought 
that he was decisive to a degree that partook of severity 
and harshness, or even more ; but how innumerable were 
the decisions which he had to make ! — how difficult and 
how important, through the eventful series of twenty years 
10 of command in the cabinet or the field ! 

Let it be considered what it is to have the management 
of a revolution, and afterwards the maintenance of order. 
Where is the man who, in the history of our race, has ever 
succeeded in attempting successively the one and the 
15 other ? — not on a small scale, a petty state in Italy, or 
among a horde of barbarians ; but in an enlightened age, 
when it is not easy for one man to rise superior to an- 
other, and in the eyes of mankind, — 

" A kingdom for a stage, 
20 And monarchs to behold the swelling scene." 

The plaudits of his country were continually sounding 
in his ears ; and neither the judgment nor the virtues of 
the man were ever disturbed. Armies were led to the 
field with all the enterprise of a hero, and then dismissed 

25 with all the equanimity of a philosopher. Power was ac- 
cepted, was exercised, was resigned, precisely at the mo- 
ment and in the way that duty and patriotism directed. 
Whatever was the difficulty, the trial, the temptation, or 
the danger, there stood the soldier and the citizen, eter- 

30 nally the same, without fear and without reproach, and 
there was the man who was not only at all times virtuous, 
but at all times wise. 

The merit of Washington by no means ceases with his 
campaigns ; it becomes, after the peace of 1783, even more 

35 striking than before ; for the same man who, for the sake 
of liberty, was ardent enough to resist the power of Great 
Britain, and hazard every thing on this side the grave, at 
a later period had to be temperate enough to resist the 



94 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

same spirit of liberty, when it was mistaking its proper 
objects, and transgressing its appointed limits. 

The American revolution was to approach him, and he 
was to kindle in the general flame : the French revolution 
5 was to reach him, and to consume but too many of his 
countrymen ; and his " own ethereal mould, incapable of 
stain, was to purge off the baser fire victorious." But all 
this was done : he might have been pardoned, though he 
had failed amid the enthusiasm of those around him, and 

10 when liberty was the delusion ; but the foundations of the 
moral world were shaken, and not the understanding of 
Washington. 

As a ruler of mankind, he may be proposed as a model. 
Deeply impressed with the original rights of human na- 

15 ture, he never forgot that the end, and meaning, and aim, 
of all just government, was the happiness of the people ; 
and he never exercised authority till he had first taken 
care to put himself clearly in the right. His candor, his 
patience, his love of justice, were unexampled ; and this, 

20 though naturally he was not patient, — much otherwise,^ — 
highly irritable. 

He therefore deliberated well, and placed his subject in 
every point of view, before he decided ; and his under- 
standing being correct, he was thus rendered, by the 

25 nature of his faculties, his strength of mind, and his prin- 
ciples, the man, of all others, to whom the interests of his 
fellow-creatures might, with most confidence, be intrusted ; 
— that is, he was the first of the rulers of mankind. 



LESSON XV. IMPRESSIONS FROM HISTORY. G. C. VERPLANCK. 

From a Discourse before the New York Historical Society, 

[To be marked for Emphasis, by the reader.] 
The study of the history of most other nations, fills the 
mind with sentiments not unlike those which the Ameri- 
can traveller feels, on entering the venerable and lofty ca- 
thedral of some proud old city of Europe. Its solemn 
5 grandeur, its vastness, its obscurity, strike awe to his 
heart. From the richly painted windows, filled with 
sacred emblems, and strange, antique forms, a dim reli- 
gious light falls around. A thousand recollections of ro- 
mance and poetry, and legendary story, come thronging in 
10 upon him. He is surrounded by the tombs of the mighty 
dead, rich with the labors of ancient art, and emblazoned 
with the pomp of heraldry. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. B^ 

What names does he read upon them? Those of 
princes and nobles who are now remembered only for 
their vices; and of sovereigns, at whose death no tears 
wejre shed, and whose memories lived not an hour in the 
5 affections of their people. There, too, he sees other 
names, long familiar to him for their guilty or ambiguous 
fame. There rest, the blood-stained soldier of fortune, — 
the orator, who was ever the ready apologist of tyranny, 
— great scholars, who were the pensioned flatterers of 

10 power, and poets, who profaned the high gift of genius, to 
pamper the vices of a corrupted court. 

Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical 
temple of fame, reared by the imagination of Chaucer, 
and decorated by the taste of Pope, is almost exclusively 

15 dedicated to the memory of the truly great. Or rather, 
like the Pantheon of Rome, it stands in calm and severe 
beauty, amid the ruins of ancient magnificence, and the 
"toys of modern state." Within, no idle ornament en- 
cumbers its bold simplicity. The pure light of heaven 

20 enters from above, and sheds an equal and serene radiance 
around. As the eye wanders about its extent, it beholds 
the unadorned monuments of brave and good men, who 
have greatly bled or toiled for their country, or it rests on 
votive tablets, inscribed with the names of the best bene- 

25 factors of mankind. 

" Patriots are here, in Freedom's battles slam, 
Priests, whose long lives were closed without a stain, 
Bards worthy Him who breathed the poet's mind, 
Founders of arts that dignify mankind, 
30 And lovers of our race, whose labors gave 

Their names a memory that defies the grave." 

Doubtless, this is a subject upon which we may be just- 
ly proud. But there is another consideration, which, if it 
did not naturally arise of itself, would be pressed upon us 
35 by the taunts of European criticism. 

What, it is asked, has this nation done to repay the 
world for the benefits we have received from others ? 

Is it nothing for the universal good of mankind to have 
carried into successful operation a system of self-govern- 
40 ment, uniting personal liberty, freedom of opinion, and 
equality of rights, with national power and dignity ; such 
as had before existed only in the Utopian dreams of phil- 
osophers ? Is it nothing, in moral science, to have antici- 
pated in sober reality, numerous plans of reform in civil 



96 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

and criminal jurisprudence, which are, but now, received 
as plausible theories by the politicians and economists of 
Europe ? Is it nothing to have been able to call forth, on 
every emergency, either in war or peace, a body of talents 
5 always equal to the difficulty? Is it nothing to have, in 
less than half a century, exceedingly improved the sci- 
ences of political economy, of law, and of medicine, with 
all their auxiliary branches; to have enriched human 
knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of useful 

10 facts and observations, and to have augmented the power 
and the comforts of civilized man, by miracles of mechan- 
ical invention ? Is it nothing to have given the world ex- 
amples of disinterested patriotism, of political wisdom, of 
public virtue ,• of learning, eloquence, and valor, never 

15 exerted save for some praiseworthy end ? It is sufficient 
to have briefly suggested these considerations : every 
mind would anticipate me in filling up the details. 

No, — Land of Liberty ! thy children have no cause to 
blush for thee. What though the arts have reared few 

20 monuments among us, and scarce a trace of the Muse's 
footstep, is found in the paths of our forests, or along the 
banks of our rivers ; yet our soil has been consecrated by 
the blood of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of peace. 
Its wide extent has become one vast temple, and hallowed 

25 asylum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the per- 
secuted of every sect, and the wretched of all nations. 

Land of Refuge, — Land of Benedictions ! Those pray- 
ers still arise, and they still are heard : " May peace be 
within thy walls, and plenteousness within thy palaces !" 

30 " May there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and no 
complaining in thy streets ! " " May truth flourish out of 
the earth, and righteousness look down from heaven !" 



LESSON XVI. THE GENIUS OF DEATH. Croly. 

[Marked for Emphasis, as applied to Poetry.] 

What is Death ? 'T is to be free ! 

No more to love^ or hope, or fear — 
To join the great equality : 
All alike are humble there ! 
The mighty grave 
Wraps lord and slave ; 
Nor pride nor poverty dares come 
Within that refuge-house, the tomb ! 



PART II.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. 97 

Spirit with the drooping wing, 

And the ever-iveeping eye, 
Thou of ALL earth's kings art KING ! 
Empires at thy footstool lie ! 
5 Beneath thee strewed 

Their multitude 
Sink, like tvaves upon the shore : 
Storms shall never rouse them more ! 

What 's the grandeur of the earth 
10 To the grandeur round thy throne ! 

Riches, glory, beauty, birth. 

To thy kingdom all have gone. 
Before thee stand 
The wondrous band; 
15 Bards, heroes, sages, side by side, 

Who DARKENED NATIONS when they died ! 

Earth has hosts ; but thou canst show 

Many a MILLION for her one ; 
Through thy gates the mortal flow 
20 Has for countless years roll'd on : 

Back from the tomb 
No step has come ; 
There fix* d, till the last thunder's sound 
Shall bid thy prisoners be unbound ! 



lesson xvn. — the deep. — j. g. c. brainard. 

[To be marked for Emphasis, by the reader.] 

There 's beauty in the deep : — 
The wave is bluer than the sky ; 
And though the light shine bright on high, 
More softly do the sea-gems glow, 
5 That sparkle in the depths below ; 
The rainbow's tints are only made 
When on the waters they are laid ; 
And sun and moon most sweetly shine 
Upon the ocean's level brine. — 
10 There 's beauty in the deep. 

There 's music in the deep : 
it is not in the surf's rough roar. 
Nor in the whispering, shelly shore, — 
They are but earthly sounds, that tell 



08 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET II. 

How little of the sea-nymph's shell, 
That sends its loud, clear note abroad, 
Or winds its softness through the flood, 
Echoes through groves with coral gay, 
5 And dies, on spongy banks away ! — 
There 's music in the deep. 

There 's quiet in the deep : 

Above, let tides and tempests rave. 

And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave ; 
10 Above, let care and fear contend, 

With sin and sorrow to the end : 

Here, far beneath the tainted foam. 

That frets above our peaceful home 

We dream in joy, and wake in love, 
15 Nor know the rage that yells above. — 

. There 's quiet in the deep. 



LESSON XVIIL— POPE AND DRYDEN. JohnSOTl. 

[This piece is marked in application of the rules of Inflection, 
stated in Part I., ^ viti., page 30.] 

Pope professed to have learned his poetry from Dr^den, 
whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he praised 
through his whole life with unvaried liberality ; and, per- 
haps his character may receive some illustration, if he be 
5 compared with his master. 

Integrity of understanding, and nicety of discernment, 
were hot allotted in a less proportion to Dr;fden than to 
Pope. The rectitude of Dryden's mind was sufficiently 
shown by the dismission of his poetical prejudices, and 

10 the rejection of unnatural thoughts and rugged numbers. 
But Dryden never desired to apply all the judgment that 
he had. He wrote, and professed to write, merely for the 
people ; and when he pleased others, he contented him- 
self He spent no time in struggles to rouse latent 

15 powers; he never attempted to make that better which 
was already good, nor often to mend what he must have 
known to be faulty. He wrote, as he tells us, with very 
little consideration: when occasion or necessity called 
upon him, he poured out what the present moment hap- 

20 pened to supply, and, when once it had passed the press, 
ejected it from his mind ; for, when he had no pecuniary 
interest he had no further solicitude. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 99 

Pope was not content to satisfy ; he desired to excel, and 
therefore always endeavored to do his best ; he did not 
court the candor, but dared the judgment of his reader, 
and, expecting no indulgence from others, he showed none 
5 to himself. He examined lines and words with minute 
and punctilious observation, and retouched every part with 
indefatigable diligence, till he had left nothing to be for- 
given. 

For this reason he kept his pieces very long in his 

10 hands, while he considered and reconsidered them. The 
only poems which can be supposed to have been written 
with such regard to the times as might hasten their publi- 
cation, were the two satires of Thirty-eight : of which 
Dodsley told me, that they were brought to him by the 

15 author, that they might be fairly copied. " Every line," 
said he, " was then written twice over ; I gave him a 
clean transcript, which he sent some time afterwards to 
me for the press, with every line written twice over a 
second time." 

20 His declaration, that his care for his works ceased at 
their publication, was not strictly triie. His parental at- 
tention never abandoned them ; what he found amiss in 
the first edition, he silently corrected in those that fol- 
lowed. He appears to have revised the Iliad, and freed 

25 it from some of its imperfections ; and the Essay on Critic 
cism received many improvements, after its first appear- 
ance. It will seldom be found that he altered without 
adding clearness, elegance, or vigor. Pope had perhaps 
the judgment of Dry den ; but Dryden certainly wanted 

30 the diligence of Pope. 

In acquired knowledge, the superiority must be allowed 
to Dryden, whose education was more scholastic, and 
who, before he became an author, had been allowed more 
time for study, with better means of information. His 

35 mind has a larger range, and he collects his images and 
illustrations from a more extensive circumference of sci- 
ence. Dryden knew more of man in his general nature, 
and Pope in his local manners. The notions of Dryden 
were formed by comprehensive speculation, and those of 

40 Pope by minute attention. There is more dignity in 
the knowledge of Dryden, and more certainty in that 
of P6pe. 

P6etry was not the sole praise of either : for both ex- 



100 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U. 

celled likewise in prose : but Pope did not borrow his 
prose from his predecessor. The style of Dry den is ca- 
pricious and varied; that of Pope is cautious and uni- 
form. Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind ; Pope 
5 constrains his mind to his own rules of composition. 
Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid; Pope is al- 
ways smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dryden's page is a 
natural field, rising into inequalities, a,nd diversified by 
the varied exuberance of abundant vegetation : Pope's is a 

10 velvet lawn, shaven by the sithe and levelled by the roller. 

Of genius, that power which constitutes a poet; that 

quality without which judgment is cold, and knowledge is 

inert ; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and 

animates; the superiority must, with some hesitation, be 

15 allowed to Drj^den. It is not to be inferred, that of this 
poetical vigor Pope had only a little, because Dryden had 
more; for every other writer since Milton, must give 
place to Pope ; and even of Drj^den it must be said that 
if he has brighter paragraphs, he has not better poems. 

20 Dryden's performances were always hasty, either excited 
by some external occasion, or extorted by domestic neces- 
sity; he composed without consideration, and published 
without correction. What his mind could supply at call, 
or gather in one excursion, was all that he sought, and all 

25 that he gave. The dilatory caution of Pope enabled him 
to condense his sentiments, to multiply his images, and to 
accumulate all that study might produce, or chance might 
supply. If the flights of Dryden, therefore, are higher, 
Pope continues longer on the wing. If of Dryden's fire 

30 the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular 
and constant. Dryden often surpasses expectation, and 
Pope never falls below it. Drj^den is read with frequent 
astonishment, and Pope with perpetual delight. 



LESSON XIX. — THE PURITANS. — Macaulay. 
[Marked for Inflections.] 

The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a 
peculiar character from the daily contemplation of supe- 
rior beings and eternal interests. Not content with ac- 
knowledging, in general terms, an overruling Providence, 
jjl^ j 5 they habitually ascribed every event to the will of the 

Great Being, for whose power nothing was too vast, for 



m 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 101 

whose inspection nothing was too minute. To kn6w Him, 
to serve Him, to enjoy Him, was with them the great end 
of existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremo- 
nious homage which other sects substituted for the pure 
5 worship of the soul. Instead of catching occasional 
glimpses of the Deity through an obscuring veil, they 
aspired to gaze full on the intolerable brightness, and to 
commune with Him face to face. Hence originated their 
contempt for terrestrial distinctions. The difference be- 

10 tween the greatest and meanest of mankind, seemed to 
vanish, when compared with the boundless interval which 
separated the whole race from Him on whom their own 
eyes were constantly fixed. They recognized no title to 
superiority but His favor; and confident of that favor, 

15 they despised all the accomplishments and all the digni- 
ties of the world. If they were unacquainted with the 
works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read 
in the oracles of God. If their names were not found in 
the registers of heralds, they felt assured that they were 

20 recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps were not 
accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of 
ministering angels had charge over them. Their palaces 
were houses not made with hands : their diadems, crowns 
of glory which should never fade away ! 

25 On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, 
they looked down with contempt : for they esteemed 
themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and eloquent 
in a more sublime language, nobles by the riffht of an 
earlier creation, and priests by the imposition oi a migh- 

30 tier hand. The very meanest of them was a being to 
whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance belonged, 
— on whose slightest action the spirits of light and dark- 
ness looked with anxious interest, who had been destined, 
before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity 

35 which should continue when heaven and earth should 
have passed away. 

Events which short-sighted politicians ascribed to earth- 
ly causes, had been ordained on his account. For his 
sake empires had risen, and flourished, and decayed. For 

40 his sake the Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen 

of the evangelist, and the harp of the prophet. He had 

been rescued by no common deliverer from the grasp of 

n6 common foe. He had been ransomed by the sweat of 

9# 



I 



102 AMEEICAN COMMON" SCHOOL [PART II. 

no vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. It 
was for him that the sun had been darkened,^ that the 
rocks had been rent, that the dead had arisen, that all na- 
ture had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring 
5 God ! 

Thus the Puritan was made up of two different men, 
the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion ; 
the other proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He pros- 
trated himself in the dust before his Maker : but he set 

10 his foot on the neck of the king. In his devotional re- 
tirement, he prayed with convulsions, and groans, and 
tears. He was half maddened by glorious or terrible il- 
lusions. He heard the \fxes of angels, or the tempting 
whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the beatific 

15 vision, or woke screaming from dreams of everlasting fire. 
Like Vane, he thought himself intrusted with the sceptre 
of the millennial year. Like Fleetwood, he cried in the 
bitterness of his soul that God had hid his face from him. 
But when he took his seat in the coimcil, or girt on his 

20 sword for war, these tempestuous workings of the soul 
had left no perceptible trace behind them. People who 
saw nothing of the godly but their uncouth visages, and 
heard nothing from them but their groans and their 
hymns, might laugh at them. But those had little reason 

25 to laugh who encountered them in the hall of debate, or 
in the field of battle. 

The Puritans brought to civil and military affairs a 
coolness of judgment, and an immutability of purpose, 
which some writers have thought inconsistent with their 

30 religious zeal, but which were in fact the necessary effects 
of it. The intensity of their feelings on one subject, 
made them tranquil on every other. One overpowering 
sentiment had subjected to itself pity and hatred, ambition 
and fear. Death had lost its terrors, and pleasure its 

35 charms. They had their smiles and their tears, their 
raptures and their sorrows, but n6t for the things of this 
world. Enthusiasm had made them stoics, had cleared 
their minds from every vulgar passion and prejudice, and 
raised them above the influence of danger and of cor- 

40 ruption. 

* When an emphatic series causes, thus, a succession of falling 
inflections, the second one in each clause, falls lower than the first. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 103 

LESSON XX. POETRY. CHANNING. 

pMarked for Inflections.] 

We believe that poetry, far from injuring society, is one 
of the great instruments of its refinement and exaltation. 
It lifts the mind above ordinary life, gives it a respite 
from depressing cares, and awakens the consciousness of 
6 its affinity with what is pure and noble. In its legitimate 
and highest efforts, it has the same tendency and aim with 
Christianity; that is, to spiritualize our nature. True, 
poetry has been made the instrument of vice, the pander 
of bad passions ; but when genius thus stoops, it dims its 

10 fires, and parts Avith much of its power ; and even when 
Poetry is enslaved to licentiousness and misanthropy, she 
cannot wholly forgef her true vocation. Strains of pure 
feeling, touches of tenderness, images of innocent happi- 
ness, sympathies with what is good in our nature, bursts 

15 of scorn or indignation at the hollowness of the world, 
passages true to our moral nature, often escape in an im- 
moral work, and show us how hard it is for a gifted spirit 
to divorce itself wholly from what is good. 

Poetry has a natural alliance with our best affections. 

20 It delights in the beauty and sublimity of outward nature 
and of the soul. It indeed portrays with terrible energy 
the excesses of the passions, but they are passions which 
show a mighty nature, which are full of power, which 
command awe, and excite a deep though shiiddering sj'm- 

25 pathy. Its great tendency and purpose, is, to carry the 
mind beyond and above the beaten, diisty, weary walks 
of ordinary life ; to lift it into a purer element, and to 
breathe into it more profound and generous emotion. It 
reveals to us the loveliness of nature, brings back the 

30 freshness of youthful feeling, revives the relish of sim- 
ple pleasures, keeps unquenched the enthusiasm which 
warmed the>pring-time of our being, refines youthful 
love, strengthens our interest in human nature, by vivid 
delineations of its tenderest and loftiest feelings, spreads 

35 our sympathies over all classes of society, knits us by 
new ties with universal being, and, through the bright- 
ness of its prophetic visions, helps faith to lay hold on 
the future life. 

We are aware that it is objected to poetry, that it gives 

40 wrong views, and excites false expectations of life, peoples 
the mind with shadows and illusions, and builds up ima- 



104 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[fart n. 



gination on the ruins of wisdom. That there is a wisdom, 
against which poetry wars, — the wisdom of the senses, 
which makes physical comfort and gratification the su- 
preme good, and wealth the chief interest of life, — we do 
5 not deny : nor do we deem it the least service which 
poetry renders to mankind, that it redeems them from the 
thraldom of this earthhorn prudence. 

But, passing over this topic, we would observe, that the 
complaint against poetry as abounding in illusion and de- 

10 ception is, in the main, groundless. In many poems 
there is more of truth, than in many histories and philo- . 
sophic theories. The fictions of genius are often the ve- 
hicles of the sublimest verities, and its flashes often open ; 
new regions of thought, and throw new light on the 

15 mysteries of our being. In poetry the letter is falsehood,! 
but the spirit is often profoundest wisdom. And if truth 
thus dwells in the boldest fictions of the poet, much more 
may it be expected in his delineations of life; for the 
present life, which is the first stage of the immortal mind, 

20 abounds in the materials of poetry, and it is the highest 
office of the bard to detect this divine element, among the 
grosser pleasures and labors of our earthly being. 

The present life is not wholly prosaic, precise, tame,^ 
and finite. To the gifted eye it abounds in the poetic. 

25 The affections which spread beyond ourselves, and stretch 
far into futurity ; the workings of mighty passions, which 
seem to arm the soul with an almost superhuman energy ; 
the innocent and irrepressible joy of infancy; the bloom, 
and buoyancy, and dazzling hopes of youth ; the throb- 

30 bings of the heart when it first wakes to love, and dreams 
of a happiness too vast for earth; woman, with her beau- 
ty, and grace, and gentleness, and fulness of feeling, and 
depth of affection, and her blushes of purity, and the 
tones and looks which only a mother's heart can inspire ; 

35 — these are all poetical. 

It is not true that the poet paints a life which does not 
exist. He only extracts and concentrates, as it were, life's 
ethereal essence, arrests and condenses its volatile fra- 
grance, brings together its scattered beauties, and pro- 

40 longs its more refined but evanescent joys ; and in this he 
does w^ll; for it is good to feel that life is not wholly 



* A negative sentence, ending with a rising inflection, has the 
falling slide on its penultimate word or clause. 



PART n.J aEADER AND SPEAKER, 105 

usurped by cares for subsistence and pkysrcal gratiiica- 
tions, but admits, in measures which may be indefinitely 
enlarged, sentiments and delights worthy of a higher 
being, 

LESSON XXI. ^CAUSES OF WAR, H. BINNEY. 

{To be marked for Infiectisns, by thre reader.] 

What are sufficient causes of war let no man say, let 
no legislator say, until the question of war is directly and 
inevitably before him. Jurists may be permitted with 
comparative safety, to pile tome upon tome of intermina- 
5 ble disquisition upon the motives, reasons, and causes of 
just and unjust war. Metaphysicians may be suffered 
with impunity to spin the thread of their speculations un- 
til it is attenuated to a cobweb ; but for a body created for 
the government of a great nation, and for the adjustment 

10 and protection of its infinitely diversified interests, it is 
worse than folly to speculate upon the causes of war, un- 
til the great question shall be presented for immediate 
action, — until they shall hold the united question of cause, 
motive, and present expediency, in the very palm of their 

15 hands. War is a tremendous evil. Come when it will, 
unless it shall come in the necessary defence of our na- 
tional security, or of that honor under whose protection 
national security reposes, it will come too soon, — too soon 
for our national prosperity, — too soon for our individual 

20 happiness, — too soon for the frugal, industrious, and vir- 
tuous habits of our citizens,— too soon, perhaps, for our 
most precious institutions. The man who, for any cause, 
save the sacred cause of public security, which makes all 
wars defensive, — the man who, for any cause but this, 

^5 shall promote or compel this final and terrible resort, 
assumes a responsibility second to none, nay, transcen- 
dantly deeper and higher than any, which man can as- 
sume before his fellow-men, or in the presence of God, his 
Creator, 

LESSON XXII. FOUNDATION OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. 

E. EVERETT. 

[To be marked for Inflections, by the reader.] 

Mental energy has been equally diffused by sterner 
levellers than ever marched in the van of a revolution, — 
the nature of man and the providence of God. Native 



106 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART m 

character, strength, and quickness of mind, are not of the 
number of distinctions and accomplishments, that human 
institutions can monopolize within a city's walls. In quiet 
times, they remain and perish in the obscurity, to which a 
5 false organization of society consigns them. In danger- 
ous, convulsed, and trying times, they spring up in the 
fields, in the village hamlets, and on the mountain tops, 
and teach the surprised favorites of human law, that 
bright eyes, skilful hands, quick perceptions, firm purpose 

10 and brave hearts, are not the exclusive appanage of 
courts. 

Our popular institutions are favorable to intellectual 
improvement, because their foundation is in dear nature. 
They do not consign the greater part of the social frame 

15 to torpidity and mortification. They send out a vital 
nerve to every member of the community, by which its 
talent and power, great or small, are brought into living 
conjunction and strong sympathy with the kindred intel- 
lect of the nation ; and every impression on every part 

20 vibrates, with electric rapidity, through the whole. They 
encourage nature to perfect her work ; they make educa- 
tion, the soul's nutriment, cheap ; they bring up remote 
and shrinking talent into the cheerful field of competition : 
in a thousand ways, they provide an audience for lips,, 

25 which nature has touched with persuasion; they put a 
lyre into the hands of genius ; they bestow on all who 
deserve it, or seek it, the only patronage worth having, 
the only patronage that ever struck out a spark of " celes- 
tial fire," — the patronage of fair opportunity. 

80 This is a day of improved education; new systems 
of teaching are devised ; modes of instruction, choice of 
studies, adaptation of text-books, the whole machinery of 
means, have been brought, in our day, under severe re- 
vision. But were I to attempt to point out the most effi- 

35 cacious and comprehensive improvement in education, the 
engine, by which the greatest portion of mind could be 
brought and kept under cultivation, the discipline which 
would reach farthest, sink deepest, and cause the word of 
instruction not to spread over the surface, like an artificial 

40 hue, carefully laid on, but to penetrate to the heart and 
soul of its objects, — it would be popular institutions. 
Give the people an object in promoting education, and the 
best methods will infallibly be suggested by that instinct- 
ive ingenuity of our nature, which provides means for 



1 



BART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 107 

great and precious ends. Give the people an object in 
promoting education, and the worn hand of labor will be 
opened to the last farthing, that its children may enjoy 
means denied to itself. 



LESSON XXIII.— SUCCESS OF THE GOSPEL. WAYLAND. 

[To be marked for Inflections^ by the reader.] 

The assumption that the cause of Christianity is de- 
clining, is utterly gratuitous. We think it not difficult to 
prove that the distinctive principles we so much venerate, 
never swayed so powerful an influence over the destinies 
5 of the human race, as at this very moment. Point us to 
those nations of the earth, to which moral and intellectual 
cultivation, inexhaustible resources, progress in arts, and 
sagacity in council, have assigned the highest rank in po- 
litical importance ; and you point us to nations, whose re- 

10 ligious opinions are most closely allied to those we 
cherish. Besides, when was there a period, since the 
days of the Apostles, in which so many converts have 
been made to these principles, as have been made, both 
from Christian and pagan nations, within the last five and 

15 twenty years ? Never did the people of the saints of the 
Most High, look so much like going forth in serious ear- 
nest, to take possession of the kingdom and dominion, 
and the greatness of the kingdom under the whole heaven, 
as at this very day. 

20 But suppose the cause did seem declining, we should 
see no reason to relax our exertions, for Jesus Christ has 
said, Preach the gospel to every creature ; and appear- 
ances, whether prosperous or adverse, alter not the ob- 
ligation to obey a positive command of Almighty God. 

25 Again, suppose all that is affirmed were true. If it must 
be, let it be. Let the dark cloud of infidelity overspread 
Europe, cross the ocean, and cover our beloved land, — let 
nation after nation swerve from the faith, — let iniquity 
abound, and the love of many wax cold, even until there 

30 is on the face of this earth, but one pure church of our 
Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, — all we ask is, that we 
may be members of that one church. God grant that we 
may throw ourselves into this ' Thermopylae of the moral 
universe.' 

35 But even then, we should have no fear that the church 
of God would be exterminated. We would call to re?- 



108 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H, 

membrance the years of the right hand of the Most High. 
We would recollect there was once a time, when the 
whole church of Christ, not only could be, but actually 
was, gathered with one accord in one place. It was then 
5 that that place was shaken, as with a rushing mighty 
wind, and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost. 
That same day, three thousand were added to the Lord. 
Soon we hear, they have filled Jerusalem with their doc- 
trine. — ^The church has commenced her march : — Samaria 

10 has, with one accord, believed the gospel; Antioch has 
become obedient to the faith ; the name of Christ has been 
proclaimed throughout Asia Minor; the temples of the 
gods, as though smitten by an invisible hand, are desert- 
ed ; the citizens of Ephesus cry out in despair, Great is 

15 Diana of the Ephesians ; licentious Corinth is purified by 
the preaching of Christ crucified. Persecution puts forth 
her arm to arrest the spreading superstition ; but the pro- 
gress of the faith cannot be stayed. The church of God 
advances unhurt amidst racks and dungeons, persecutions 

20 and death ; she has entered Italy, and appears before the 
wall of the Eternal City; idolatry falls prostrate at her 
approach ; her ensign floats in triumph over the capitol ; 
she has placed upon her brow the diadem of the Csesars. 



LESSON XXIV. POWER OF THE SOUL. R. H. DANA, SEN. 

[Marked for the application of Inflections.] 

Life in itself, it life to all things gives : 
For whatsoe'er it looks on, that thing lives, — 
Becomes an acting being, ill or good ; 
And, grateful to its giver, tenders food 
5 For the Soul's health, or, suffering change unblest, 
Pours poison down to rankle in the breast : 
As is the man, e'en so it bears its part, 
And answers, thought to thought, and heart to h^art. 

Yes, man reduplicates himself. You see, 

10 In yonder lake, reflected rock and tree. 
Each leaf at rest, or quivering in the £lir, 
Now rests, now stirs, as if a breeze were there, 
Sweeping the crystal depths. How perfect MI ! 
And see those slender top-boughs rise and fall; 

15 The double strips of silvery sand unite 

Ab6ve, below, each grain distinct and bright. 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



109 



— Thou bird, that seek'st thy food upon that bough, 

Peck not alone ; that bird bel6w, as thou, 

Is busy after food, and happy, too ; 

— They 're gone ! Both, pleased, away together flew. 

5 And see we thus sent up, rock, s<ind, and w6od, 
Life, j6y, and motion from the sleepy flood ? 
The world, man, is like that flood to thee : 
Turn where thou wilt, thyself in all things see 
Reflected back. As drives the blinding sand 

10 Round Egypt's piles, where'er thou tak'st thy stand, 
If that thy heart be barren, there will sweep 
The drifting waste, like waves along the deep, 
Fill up the vale, and choke the laughing streams 
That ran by grass and brake, with dancing beams, 

15 Sear the fresh woods, and from thy heavy eye 
Veil the wide-shifting glories of the sky. 
And 6ne, still, sightless level make the earth, 
Like thy diill, lonely, joyless Soul, — a dearth. 

The rill is tuneless to his ear who feels 
20 No harmony within ; the south wind steals 
As silent as unseen, amongst the leaves. 
Who has no inward beauty, none perceives. 
Though all around is beautiful. Nay, more, — 
In nature's calmest hour he hears the roar 
25 Of winds and flinging waves, — puts out the light, 
When high and angry passions meet in flight ; 
And, his own spirit into tumult hurled. 
He makes a turmoil of a quiet world : 
The fiends of his own bosom, people air 
30 With kindred fiends, that hunt him to despair. 
Hates he his fellow-men ? Why, then, he deems 
'T is hate for hate : — as he, so each one seems. 



Soul ! fearful is thy power, which thus transforms 
All things into its likeness : heaves in storms 
The strong, proud sea, or lays it down to rest, 
Like the hushed infant on its mother's breast, — 
Which gives each outward circumstance its htie, 
And shapes all others' acts and thoughts anew, 
That so, they j6y, or love, or hate impart. 
As j6y, love, hate, holds rule within the h^art. 
10 



110 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



|PART B. 



LESSON XXV. HYMN OF NATITRE. W. B. O- PEABO'DY. 

[To be marked for Infiections.'\ 

God of the earth's extended plains ! 

The dark green fields contented lie r 
The mountains rise like holy towers, 

Where man might commune with the sky : 
5 The tall cliff challenges the storm 

That lowers upon the vale below, 
Where shaded fountains send their streams. 

With joyous music in their flow. 

God of the dark and heavy deep \ 
10 The waves lie sleeping on the sands, 

Till the fierce trumpet of the storm 

Hath summon'd up their thundering bands i 
Then the white sails are dash'd like foam, 
Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas, 
15 Till, calm'd by Thee, the sinking gale 
Serenely breathes, Depart in peace. 

God of the forest's solemn shade ! 

The grandeur of the lonely tree. 
That wrestles singly with the gale, 
20 Lifts up admiring eyes to Thee ; 

But more majestic far they stand, 

When, side by side, their ranks they form. 
To wave on high their plumes of green, 

And fight their battles with the storm. 

25 God of the light and viewless air ! 

Where summer breezes sweetly flow, 
Or, gathering in their airy might, 

The fierce and wintry tempests blow : 
All, — from the evening's plaintive sigh, 
30 That hardly lifts the drooping flower, 

To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry, — 
Breathe forth the language of Thy power. 

God of the fair and open sky ! 
How gloriously above us springs 
35 The tented dome, of heavenly blue, 
Suspended on the rainbow's rings ! 
Each brilliant star that sparkles through, 

Each gilded cloud that wanders free 
In evening's purple radiance, gives 
40 The beauty of its praise to Thee. 



PART hJ EEADSR and SPEAKER, 

God of the rolliRg orbs above I 

Thy name is written clearly bright, 
In the warm day's unvarying blaze, 

Or -evening's golden shower of light, 
<§ For every fire that fronts the sun. 

And every spark that walks alone, 
Aroun-d the utmost verge of heaven, 

W^e kindled &t thy burning throne, 

God of the world ! the hour must come. 

And Na^ture's self to dust return ; 
Her crumbling altars must decay ; 

Her incense fires shall cease to burn; 
But still her grand and lovely scenes 

Have made man's warmest praises flow ; 
For hearts grow holier as they trace 

The bea^uty of the world below. 



111 



10 



15 



LESSON XXVL UNIVERSAL DECAY. — GREENWOOD. 

.[Marked for Mhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and Inflections.*] 

We receive such repeated intimations of decay II in 
the world through which we are passing; — decline \ and 
change \ and loss, follow ' decline \ and change \ and loss 
li in such rapid succession, that we can almost catch the 
5 sound of universal wasting, and hear the work of desola- 
tion ' going on busily ' around us. "■ The mountain \ fall- 
ing II Cometh to nought, and the rock | is removed out of 
his place. The waters \ wear the stones, the things which 
grow out of the dust of the earth II are loashed aivdy, and 

10 the hope of man | is destroT/ed.^' Conscious ' of our own 
instability, we look about ' for something to rest on ; but 
we look ' in vain. The heavens ' and the earth | had a 
beginning, and they will have an end. The face of the 
world \ is changiiig, daily and hourly. All ' aniinated 

15 things 11 grow &ld and die. The rocks \ crumble, the trees 
I fall, the leaves \ fa,de, and the grass \ withers. The 
clouds 1 are fiying, and the waters ] are Jloioing away 
from us. 

The firmest works of nmn, too, are gradually giving 

20 way^ the ivy | clings to the nwuldering tower, the brier \ 

* The learner having been conducted thToiigh the application of 
the rules for Fauses, Emphasis, and Inflections, separately, will 
aow be prepared to study and apply them in conjunction. 



112 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U, 

hangs out from the shattered icindow, and the wall-Jiower 
I springs from the disjointed stones. The founders \ of 
these perishable works II have shared the same fate \ long 
ago. If we look back to the days of our ancestors, to the 
5 Tnen j as well as the dwellings \ of former times, they be- 
come immediately associated in our imaginations, and only 
make the feeling of instability stronger and deeper than 
before. In the spacious domes, which once held our fa- 
thers^ the serpent \ kisses, and the ivild bird \ screams, 

10 The halls, which once were crowded ' with all that taste 

1 QiVidi science j andZaZ'or \ QovilAprocurej — \\]:iich. resounded 

with melody, and were lighted up with beauty, are buried 

' by their cywn riiins, mocked \ by their oiun desolation. 

The voice of merrimeiit, and of zcailing, the steps of the 

15 busy ^ and the idle II have ceased in the deserted courts, and 
the weeds \ choke the entrances, and the long grass II waves 
upon the hearth-stone. The icorks of dr^, the forming 
handy the tombs, the very d^-^e^ they contained, are all 
gone. 

20 While we thus walk * among the ruins of the past, a 
sad feeling of insecurity \ comes over us ; and that feel- 
ing f is by no means diminished, II when we arrive at home. 
If we turn to our friends, we can hardly speak to them II 
before they bid us farewell. We see them for a few mo- 

25 ments ' and in a few moments more, their countenances ' are 
changed, and they are sent away. It matters not ' how near 
• and dear ' they are. The ties which bind us together II 
are never too close ^ to be parted, or too strong ' to be bro- 
ken. Tears \ were never known to move the king of 

30 terrors; neither is it enough ' that we are compelled to 
surrender one, or two, or many of those we love; for 
though the price is so great, we buy no favor with it, and 
our hold ' on those who remain {is as slight as ever. 
The shadows W all ^ elude our grasp, and follow one an- 

35 other • down the valley. We gain no confidence, then, no 
feeling of security, by turning to our contemporaries and 
kindred. We know ' that the forms, which are breathings 
around us, are as shortlived ^ and fleeting ^ as those were, 
which have been dust \ for centuries. The sensation of 

4^ vanity, uncertainty, and ruin, is equally strong, whether 
we muse on what has long been prostrate, or gaze on 
y^^i is falling now, or will fall ' so soon. 

r; r .'.^ every thing [ which comes under our notice B has 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 113 

endured for so short a time, and ' in so short a time | will 
be no more, we cannot say j that we receive the least as- 
surance I! by thinking on ourselves. When a few more 
friends | have Uft, a. few more hopes ] deceived, and 3. fezo 
6 more changes \ mocked us, " we shall be brought to the 
grave, and shall remain in the tomb : the clods of the 
valley \ shall be siveet unto us, and every man ' shall fol- 
loiv us, as there are innumemhle ' before us." All power 
' will have forsaken the strongest, and the loftiest ' will 

10 be laid low, and every eye ' will be closed, and every voice ' 
hushed, and every heart ' will have ceased its beating. And 
when we have gone ^ oiirselves, even our memories ' will 
not stay behind us I6ng. Afeiv of the near and dear li will 
bear our likeness ^ in their bosoms, till they ' too ' have ar- 

15 rived ^ at the end of their journey, and entered the dark 
dwelling of unconsciousness. In the thoughts of others II 
we shall live ' only till the last sound of the bell, which 
informs them of our departure, has ceased to vibrate in 
their ears. A stone, perhaps, may tell some wanderer 

20 where we lie, when we came here, and wh&n we t^en? 
away ; but ' even ifAa^ j will soon refuse to bear us rec- 
ord: ^^ time's effacing fingers'^ | will be busy on its SMr- 
y^ce, and | at length ^ will loear it smooth; and then | the 
stone itself | will sink, or crumble, and the wanderer of 

25 another age | will pass, loilhout a single call ' upon his 
sympathy, over our unheeded graves. 



LESSON XXVII. ETERNITY OF GOD. GREENWOOD. 

[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and Infections.] 

There is one Being II to whom we can look | with a 
perfect conviction ' of finding that security, which ' no- 
thing about us ' can give, and which nothing about us ' 
can take aivay. To this Being | we can lift up our s6uls, 
5 and on Him ' we ma}'' rest them, exclaiming | in the lan- 
guage ' of the monarch of Israel, "Before the moun- 
tai7is I were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the 
earth ' and the ivorld, even from everlasting to everlast- 
ing 11 Thou art God." " Of old II hast Thou laid the foun- 
10 dations of the earth, and the heavens \ are the work ' of 
Thy hands. They \ shall j^emA, but Thou \ shalt e^zrfwre ; 
yea, dZZ of them ] shall ivax old ' like a garment, as a 
vesture ' shalt Thou change them, and they shall be 
10# 



114 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOI, [PART H, 

changed; but Thou j art the same, and Thy years ( shall 
have no Ind^^ 

Here | then | is a support^ which will niver fail ; here 

• is a foundation \ which can never be moved — the ever- 
5 lasting Creator ' of countless worlds, "the high ' and 

lofty One [ that inhabiteth eternity." What a sublime 
coNCEPTiaN ! He inhabits eternity, occupies this incon- 
ceivable duration, pervades j and fills | throughout 11 
THIS ' BOUNDLESS DWELLING. Ages on ages W before even 

10 the dust of which we are formed If was created, he had 
existed j in infinite majesty, and ages on ages I will roll 
away W after we have all returned to the dust j whence 
we were taken, and ^ still j he will exist II in infinite ma,' 
jesty, living ' in the eternity of his own nature, reigning 

15 ' in the plenitude of his own omnipotence, for ever send- 
ing forth the loord, which forms, supports, and 'governs ' 
all things, commanding neio-created light If to shine on 
Tvew-created worlds, and raising up new-created genera- 
tions \ to inhabit them. 

20 The contemplation ^ of this glorious attribute of God, 
is fitted to excite ' in our minds ^ the most animating \ 
and consoling ' reflections. Standing, as we are, amid 
the ruins of time, and the wrecks of mortality, where 
every thing about us [ is created ' and dependent, proceed- 

25 ing from nothing, and hastening to destruction, we rejoice 

• that something is presented to our view [ which has 
stood from everlasting, and will remain for ez?er. When 
we have looked on the pleasures of life, and they have 
vanished away ; when we have looked on the works of 

30 n&ture, and perceived that they were changing ; on the 
monuments of art, and seen that they loould not stand ; 
on our friends, and they have fled ' while we were gaz- 
ing ; on ourselves, and felt that ive were as fleeting as 
they ; when we have looked on every object ^ to which 

35 we could turn our anxious iyes, and they have all told us 
that they could give us no hope, nor support, because they 
were so feeble themselves ; we can look to the throne of 
GOD: change ' and decay | have never reached that; 
the revolution of ages II has never moved it ; the waves of 

40 an eternity \ have been rushing past it, but it has re- 

* When the falling inflection recurs, in succession, as above, it 
ftiUs lower at each repetition. 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



115 



mained unshaken; the waves of another eternity | are 
rushing toward it, but it is fixed, and can never be dis- 
turbed. 



LESSON XXVIII. TWO CENTURIES FROM THE LANDING OF 

THE PILGRIMS. CRAFTS. 

[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and Inflections. "l 

If, on this day, after the lapse of two centuries, one of 
the fathers of New England, released ' from the sleep of 
death, could reappear ' on earth, what would be his emo- 
tions ' oijoy I and tvonder ! In lieu of a luilderness, here 
5 and there interspersed ' with solitary cabins, where life \ 
was scarcely worth the danger of preserving it, he would 
behold joyful harrests, a population ' crowded even to sa- 
tiety, I villages, tbwTis, cities, states., swarming with indus' 
trious inhabitants, hills \ graced ' with temples of devo' 

10 tion, and valleys \ vocal ' with the early lessons of virtue. 
Casting his eye on the ocean, which he passed in fear and 
trembling, he would see it covered with enterprising fleets 
II returning with the whale | as their captive, and the 
ivealth of the Indies \ for their cargo. He would behold 

15 the little colony ' which he planted, grown into gigantic 
stature, and forming an honorable part ' of a glorious 
confederacy, the pride ' of the earth, and the favorite ' of 
heaven. 

He would witness, with ex^dtation, the general preva- 

20 lence | of correct principles of government ' and virtuous 
habits of action. How gladly would he gaze upon the 
long stream of light and renown \ from Harvard's classic 
fount, and the kindred springs ' of Yale, of Providence, 
of Dartmouth, and of Briinsioick. Would you fill his 

25 bosom with honest pride, tell him of Franklin, who made 
thunder | sioeet music, and the lightning | innocent fire- 
works, — of Adams, the venerable sage \ reserved by heaven, 
himself j a blessing, to witTiess its blessing on our nation, 
— of Ames, whose tongue became, and has become | an 

30 angers, — of Perry, 

" Blest by his God ' with one illustrious d&y, 
A BLAZE of GLORY, erc he passed away." 

And tell him. Pilgrim of Plymouth, these II are thy de- 
scendants. Show him the stately structures, the splendid 
35 benevolence, the masculine intellect, and the sweet hospital- 
ity I of the metropolis of Neio England. Shoio him that 



116 AMERICAN COBIMON-SCHOOL [pART 11. 

immortal vhsel,^ whose name \ is synonymous with tri" 
um'ph^ and each of her masts \ a sceptre. Show him the 
glorious friiits ' of his humble enterprise^ and ask him if 
this, ALL this, be not an atonement ' for his sufferings, a 
5 recompense ' for his toils, a blessing ' on his efforts, and a 
heart-expanding triumph | for the pilgrim, adventurer. 

And if he \ be proud ' of his offspring, well may ^Aey 
I ioa^^ of \\:i.^Ys: parentage. 



LESSON XXIX. THE TPRIGHT LAWYER. S. GREENLEAF. 

[Marked for 'Rhetorical Faicses, Emphasis, and Inflections. 1 

In the walks of private life, the character of an upright 
lawyer II shines ' with mild \ but genial ' lustre. He con- 
cerns himself ' with the beginnings of controversies, not to 
inflame ' but to extinguish them. He is not content ' with 
5 the doubtful morality ' of suffering clients, whose passions 
are roused, to rush blindly mio legal conjiict. His con- 
science I can find no balm \ in the reflection, that he has 
but obeyed the orders of an angry man. He feels that his 
first duties j are to the community in which he lives, and 

10 whose peace \ he is bound to preserve. 

He is no stranger \ to the mischiefs, which follow in 
the train of litigation ; the deadly f^uds ' and animosities 
I descending from the original combatants ' to successive 
generations ; the perjuries ' and frauds \ so often com- 

15 mitted to secure success; and the impoverishment | so 
commonly resulting j even to the whining party ; and in 
view of these consequences, he advises to amicable negotia- 
tion and adjustment. He is a peacemaker, — a composer 
of dissensions, — a blessing to his neighborhood ;— his path 

20 I is luminous II as the path of the just. 

I look ' with pity \ on the man, who regards himself ' a 
mere machine of the law ; — whose conceptions of moral 
and social duty ii are all absorbed in the sense of supposed 
obligation to his client, and this \ of so low a nature II as 

25 to render him a very tool ' and slave, to serve the worst 
passions of men ; — who yields himself ' a passive instru- 
ment ' of legal inflictions, to be moved at the pleasure of 
every hirer ; — and who II beholding the ruin and havoc | 
made by a lawsuit, which | ^^two scruples oi honesty" | in 

30 his counsel \ might have prevented, can calmly pocket his 

* The Constitution. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 117 

fee I with the reflection, that he has done his duty to his 
client, alike regardless of duty to his neighbor ' and his 
God. 
That such men do exist, to disgrace our profession, is 
5 lamentably true ; men, — 

" that can speak 
To every cause, and things mere contraries, 
Till they are hoarse again, yet all \ be law." — 

We would redeem its character II by marking a higher 
10 standard of morals. While our aid should never be with- 
held I from the injured ' or the accused, let it be remem- 
bered, that all our duties ' are not concentrated in con- 
ducting an appeal to the law ; — that we are not only 
lawyers, but citizens | and MEN ; — that our clients | are 
15 not always the best judges of their own interests : — and 
that ' having confided these interests to our hands, it is for 
us to advise to that course, which will best conduce to 
their permanent benefit, not merely ' as solitary individu' 
als, but as men II connected with society \ by enduring ties. 



LESSON XXX. CHARACTER OF THE PRESENT AGE. 

E. EVERETT. 

[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and 
Inflections. 1 

The present age may be justly described as the Age of 
Revolutions. The whole civilized world is agitated with 
political convulsions, and seems to be panting and strug- 
gling in agony after some unattained, — ^perhaps unattain- 
5 able good. From the commencement of our revolution 
up to the present day, we have witnessed in Europe and 
America, an uninterrupted series of important changes. 
The thrones of the old world have been shaken to their 
foundations. On our own continent, empires that bore 

10 the name of colonies, have shaken or are shaking off the 
shackles of dependence. And so far is this, the age of 
revolutions, which has already lasted more than half a 
century, from having reached its termination, that the 
very last year has been more fruitful in the most tremen- 

15 dous convulsions, than any preceding one ; and the present 
will probably be still more agitated than the last. Every 
arrival from abroad brings us intelligence of some new 
event of the highest moment : some people rising in re- 
volt against their sovereign : some new constitution pro- 



118 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

claimed in one country : some reform, equivalent to a new 
constitution, projected in another : France, in the midst of 
a dangerous revolutionary crisis : Belgium, Poland, and 
Italy, the scenes of actual hostilities : England, on the eve 
5 of commotion : the whole European commonwealth ap- 
parently plunging again into the gulf of general war. 

What is the object of all these desperate struggles ? — 
The object of them is to obtain an extension of individual 
liberty. Established institutions have lost their influence 

10 and authority. Men have become weary of submitting to 
names and forms which they once reverenced. It has 
been ascertained, — to use the language of Napoleon, that 
a throne is only four boards covered with velvet, — that a 
written constitution is but a sheet of parchment. There 

15 is, in short, an effort making throughout the world to re- 
duce the action of Government within the narrowest 
possible limits, and to give the widest possible extent to 
individual liberty. 

Our own country, thpugh happily exempt,— and God 

20 grant that it may long continue so, — from the troubles of 
Europe, is not exempt from the influence of the causes 
that produce them. We too are inspired, and agitated, 
and governed by the all-pervading, all-inspiring, all-agi- 
tating, all-governing spirit of the age. Wliat do I say ? 

25 We were the first to feel and act upon its influence. Our 
revolution was the first of the long series that has since 
shaken every corner of Europe and America. Our fa- 
thers led the van in the long array of heroes, martyrs, and 
confessors, who had fought and fallen under the banner of 

30 liberty. The institutions they bequeathed to us, and un- 
der which we are living in peace and happiness, were 
founded on the principles which lie at the bottom of the 
present agitation in Europe. We have realized what our 
contemporaries are laboring to attain. Our tranquillity is 

35 the fruit of an entire acquiescence in the spirit of the age. 
We have reduced the action of Government within nar- 
rower limits, and given a wider scope to individual liberty, 
than any community that ever flourished before. 

We live, therefore, in an age, and in a country, where 

40 positive laws and institutions have comparatively but little 
direct force. But human nature remains the same. The 
passions are as wild, as ardent, as ungovernable, in a re- 
public, as in a despotism. What then is to arrest their 
violence ? What principle is to take the place of the 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 119 

restraints that were formerly imposed by time-honored cus- 
toms, — venerable names and forms, — military and police 
establishments, which once maintained the peace of so- 
ciety, but which are fast losing their influence in Europe, 
5 and which have long since lost it in this country ? I an- 
swer, in one word, Religion. Where the direct influence 
of Power is hardly felt, the indirect influence of Religion 
must be proportionably increased, or society will be con- 
verted into a scene of wild confusion. The citizen who 

10 is released in a great measure from the control of positive 
authority, must possess within his own mind, the strong 
curb of an enlightened conscience, a well grounded, deep- 
ly felt, rational, and practical Piety; or else he will be 
given over, without redemption, to the sins that most 

15 easily beset him, and, by indulging in them, will contribute 
so far as he has it in his power, to disturb the harmony of 
the whole body politic. 

LESSON XXXI. THE FOUNDERS OF BOSTON. JOSIAH QUINCY. 

[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and 
Inflections.] 

On this occasion,"^ it is proper to speak of the founders 
of our city, and of their glory. Now in its true accepta- 
tion, the term glory expresses the splendor which ema- 
nates from virtue, in the act of producing general and 
5 permanent good. Right conceptions, then, of the glory of 
our ancestors, are alone to be attained by analyzing their 
virtues. These virtues, indeed, are not seen charactered 
in breathing bronze, or in living marble. Our ancestors 
have left no Corinthian temples on our hills, no Gothic 

10 cathedrals on our plains, no proud pyramid, no storied 
obelisk, in our cities. But mind is there. Sagacious 
enterprise is there. An active, vigorous, intelligent, mor- 
al population throng our cities, and predominate in our 
fields; men, patient of labor, submissive to law, respectful 

15 to authority, regardful of right, faithful to liberty. These 
are the monuments of our ancestors. They stand immu- 
table and immortal, in the social, moral, and intellectual 
condition of their descendants. They exist in the spirit 
which their precepts instilled, and their example implanted. 

* Address at the close of the second century from the settlement 
of Boston. 



lUO AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET U, 

It was to this spot, during twelve successive years, that 
the great body of those first settlers emigrated. In this 
place, they either fixed permanently their abode, or took 
their departure from it for the coast, or the interior. 
5 Whatever honor devolves on this metropolis from the 
events connected with its first settlement, is not solitary 
or exclusive ; it is shared with Massachusetts ; with New 
England ; in some sense, with the whole United States. 
For what part of this wide empire, be it sea or shore, lake 

10 or river, mountain or valley, have the descendants of the 
first settlers of New England not traversed ? what depth 
of forest, not penetrated ? what danger of nature or man, 
not defied ? Where is the cultivated field, in redeeming 
which from the wilderness, their vigor has not been dis- 

15 played ? Where, amid unsubdued nature, by the side of 
the first log-hut of the settler, does the school-house stand 
and the church-spire rise, unless the sons of New Eng- 
land are there ? Where does improvement advance, un- 
der the active energy of willing hearts and ready hands, 

20 prostrating the moss-covered monarchs of the wood, and 
from their ashes, amid their charred roots, bidding the 
green sward and the waving harvest to upspring, and the 
spirit of the fathers of New England is not seen, hover- 
ing, and shedding around the benign influences of sound, 

25 social, moral, and religious institutions, stronger and more 
enduring than knotted oak or tempered steel? The swell- 
ing tide of their descendants has spread upon our coasts ; 
ascended our rivers ; taken possession of our plains. Al- 
ready it encircles our lakes. At this hour, the rushing 

30 noise of the advancing wave, startles the wild beast in his 
lair among the prairies of the West. Soon it shall be 
seen climbing the Rocky Mountains, and, as it dashes 
over their cliffs, shall be hailed by the dwellers on the 
Pacific, as the harbinger of the coming blessings of safety, 

35 liberty, and truth. 

LESSON XXXII. HUMAN CULTURE. — S. J. MAY. 

[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and 
Inflections. '\ 

When we see a flower, — its calix filled with petals of 
exquisite form, of the most delicate texture, and diverse 
colors, so rich and nicely blended that no art can equal 



.PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. '12^1 

them, and withal perpetually diffusing a delicious per- 
fume, we cannot readily believe, that all this variety of 
charms was evolved from a little seed, not bigger, it may 
be, than the head of a pin. 
5 When we behold a sturdy oak, that has, for a hundred 
years, defied the blasts of winter, has stretched wide 
around its sheltering limbs, and has seemed to grow only 
more hardy, the more it has been pelted by the storms, — 
we find it difficult to persuade ourselves that the essence, 

10 the elements of all this body and strength, were once en- 
closed in an acorn. Yet such are the facts of the vegeta- 
ble world. Nor are they half so curious nor wonderful, 
as the changes, which are wrought by time and education, 
in the human mind and heart. 

15 Here, for example, is a man now master of twenty lan- 
guages, who can converse in their own tongues with the 
people of as many different nations, whose only utterance 
thirty years ago was very much like, and not any more 
articulate than, the bleating of a lamb. Or it may be that 

20 he, who could then send forth only a wailing cry, is now 
overwhelming the crowded forum, or swaying the Con- 
gress of the nation, by his eloquence, fraught with sur- 
passing wisdom. 

Here is another, who can conceive the structure, and 

25 direct the building of the mighty ship, that shall bear an 
embattled host around the world, carrying a nation's thun- 
der; or the man, who can devise the plan of a magnifi- 
cent temple, and guide the construction of it, until it shall 
present to the eye of the beholder a perfect whole, glow- 

30 ing with the unspeakable beauty of symmetrical form. 

And here is a third, who has comprehended the struc- 
ture of the solar system. He has ascertained the relative 
sizes of the planets, and learned at what precise moments 
they shall severally complete their circuits. He has even 

35 weighed the sun, and measured the distances of the fixed 
stars ; and has foretold the very hour, " when the dread 
comet," after an absence of centuries, " shall to the fore- 
head of our evening sky return." 

These men are the same beings, who, thirty years ago, 

40 were puling infants, scarcely equal in their intelligence to 
kittens of a week old. 

There, too, is a man, who is swaying the destiny of 
nations. His empire embraces half the earth ; and, 
11 



122 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

throughout his wide domains, his will is law. At his 
command, hundreds of thousands rush to arms, the pliant 
subjects of his insatiable ambition, ready to pour out their 
blood like water in his cause. He arranges them, as he 
5 pleases, to execute his plans. He directs their movements 
as if they were pawns upon a chessboard. He plunges 
them into deadly conflict, and wades to conquest over 
their dead and mangled bodies. That man, the despotic 
power of whose mind now overawes the world, was once 

10 a feeble babe, who had neither the disposition, nor the 
strength, to harm a fly. 

On the other hand, there is one, who now evinces un- 
conquerable energy, and the spirit of willing self-sacrifice 
in works of benevolence. No toil seems to overbear his 

15 strength. No discouragement impairs his resolution. No 
dangers disarm his fortitude. He will penetrate into the 
most loathsome haunts of poverty or vice, that he may re- 
lieve the wretched, or reclaim the abandoned. He will 
traverse continents, and expose himself hourly to the ca- 

20 pricious cruelty of barbarous men, that he may bear to 
them the glad tidings of salvation ; or he will calmly face 
the scorn and rage of the civilized world, in opposition to 
the wrong ; or march firmly to the stake, in maintenance 
of the true and the right. This man, a few years ago, 

25 might have been seen crying for a sugar-plum, or quarrel- 
ing with his little sister for a two-penny toy. 

And who are they, that are infesting society with their 
daring crimes, scattering about them " fire-brands, arrows, 
and death," boldly setting at defiance the laws of man, 

80 and of God ? They are the same beings, that a few years 
ago, were innocent little children, who, could they have 
conceived of such deeds of darkness, as they now perpe- 
trate without compunction, would have shrunk from them 
instinctively with horror. 

85 These, surely, are prodigious changes, greater far than 
any exhibited in the vegetable world. And are they not 
changes of infinitely greater moment ? The growth of a 
mighty tree, from a small seed, may be matter for wonder, 
for admiration ; but the development of a being, capable 

40 of such tremendous agencies for good or for evil, should 
be with us all a matter of the deepest concerii. Strange, 
passing strange — that it is not so ! 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 123 

LESSON XXXriI. GRECIAN AND ROMAN ELOQUENCE. 

J. Q. ADAMS. 

[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and 
Inflections. 1 

In the flourishing periods of Athens and Kome, elo- 
quence was power. It was at once the instrument and 
the spur to ambition. The talent of public speaking was 
the key to the highest dignities ; the passport to the su- 
5 preme dominion of the state. The rod of Hermes was 
the sceptre of empire ; the voice of oratory was the thun- 
der of Jupiter. 

The most powerful of human passions was enlisted in 
the cause of eloquence ; and eloquence in return was the 

10 most effectual auxiliary to the passion. In proportion to 
the wonders she achieved, was the eagerness to acquire 
the faculties of this mighty magician. 

Oratory was taught, as the occupation of a life. The 
course of instruction commenced with the infant in the 

15 cradle, and continued to the meridian of manhood. It 
was made the fundamental object of education, and every 
other part of instruction for childhood, and of discipline for 
youth, was bent to its accommodation. 

Arts, science, letters, were to be thoroughly studied and 

20 investigated, upon the maxim, that an orator must be a 
man of universal knowledge. Moral duties were incul- 
cated, because none but a good man could be an orator. 
Wisdom, learning, virtue herself, were estimated by their 
subserviency to the purposes of eloquence ; and the whole 

25 duty of man consisted in making himself an accomplished 
public speaker. 



LESSON XXXIV. THANATOPSIS.^ W. C. BRYANT. 

[Marked for the application of Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and 
Inflection, to the reading of Poetry.] 

To him, who, in the love of Nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer hours II 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile ' 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
Into his darker musings, with a mild ' 
And gentle sympathy, that steals aioay 

* Contemplation of Death. 



124 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



Their sharpness^ ere he is aware. When thoughts ' 
Of the last \ hitter \ hour !l come like a blight ' 
Over thy spirit, and sad images ' 
Of the stern agony ^ and shroud, and pdll, 
5 And breathless ddrk?iess, and the narrow houses 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
Go forth ' under the open sky, and list 
To Ndture^s teachings, while from all around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air, — 

10 Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee \ 
The all-beholding sun W shall see no more j 
In oil his course ; nor yet | in the cold ground. 
Where ih.j pale form il was laid, with many tears. 
Nor in the embrace of ocean II shall exist 

15 Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall cldim, 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 
And, lost each hitman trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 11 
To mix forever with the elements, 

20 To be a brother to the insensible rock. 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude stuain H 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 11 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 
Yet not to thy eternal resting place II 

25 Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldst thou loish II 
Couch I more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down l[ 
With patriarchs of the infant world, — with kings, 
The powerful of the earth, — the wise, the good, 
Fsiii forms, and hoary see?'s \ of ages past, 

30 All I in one ' mighty \ sepulchre. — The hills II 

Rock-ribb'd \ and ancient ' as the siin, — the vd,les II 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
The venerable woods, — rivers ' that move 
In mdjesty, and the complaining brooks II 

35 That make the meadows green; and, poured round 611, 
Old oceans gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are bat the solemn decorations | all II 
Of the great tomb of man. The golden ^n. 
The planets, all the infinite host of hlaven, 

40 Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still ' lapse of ages. All that triad 
The globe II are but a handful II to the tribes ' 
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
Of morning, — and the Barcan desert pierce, 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 125 

Or lose thyself | in the continuous woods II 
Where rolls the ^Oregon, and hears no sounds 
Save his own dashings, — yet — the dead II are there, 
And MILLIONS in those solitudes, since first ' 
5 The flight of years \ began, have laid them down ' 
In their last sleep, — the dead | reign there ' alone. — 
So shalt THOU rest ; — and what if thou shalt fall | 
Unheeded by the living, — and nx) friend \ 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe II 

10 Will share thy destiny. The gay | will laugh \ 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of cai'e \ 
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these II shall leave ' 
Their mirth ' and their employments, and shall come, 

15 And make their bed ' with thee. As the long train 
Of ages I glid.e away, the sons of men, 
The youth | in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid. 
The bowed with dge, the infant II in the smiles ' 

20 And beauty ' of its innocent age | cut off, — 
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side. 
By those, who | in their turn II shall follow tMm. 

So live, that when thy summoTis ' comes II to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 

25 To the pale realms of shade, where each ' shall take 
His chamber ' in the silent halls of death. 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave ' at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained \ and soothed II 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 

30 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch ' 
About him, and lies down ' to pleasant dreams. 



LESSON XXXV. — TRUST IN GOD. — Wordswortk. 

[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and 
Infiections.'] 

How beautiful this dome of sky ! 

And the vast hills, in fluctuation fixed 
At Thy command, how awful ! Shall the soul, 
Human and rational, report of Thee 
Even less than these ? — Be mute who will, who can, 
Yet I will praise Thee Avith impassioned voice : 
My lips, that may forget Thee in the crowd, 
11# 



126 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part il 



Cannot forget Thee here ; where Thou hast built, 
For Thy own glory, in the wilderness. 

Me didst Thou constitute a priest of thine. 
In such a temple as we now behold 
5 Reared for Thy presence ; therefore am I bound 
To worship, here, — and everywhere,— -as one 
Not doomed to ignorance, though forced to tread. 
From childhood up, the ways of poverty ; 
From unreflecting ignorance preserved, 

10 And from debasement rescued. — By Thy grace 
The particle divine remained unquenched ; 
And, 'mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil, 
Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers 
From Paradise transplanted. Wintry age 

15 Impends ; the frost will gather round my heart ; 
And, if they wither, I am worse than dead. 

Come labor, when the worn-out frame requires 
Perpetual sabbath ; come disease and want, 
And sad exclusion through decay of sense ; 

20 But leave me unabated trust in Thee ; 
And let Thy favor, to the end of life, 
Inspire me with ability to seek 
Repose and hope among eternal things, — 
Father of heaven and earth ! and I am rich, 

25 And will possess my portion in content. 

And what are things eternal ? — Powers depart, 
Possessions vanish, and opinions change, 
And passions hold a fluctuating seat : 
But, by the storms of circumstance unshaken, ^ 

30 And subject neither to eclipse nor wane. 
Duty exists ; — -immutably survive. 
For our support, the measures and the forms, 
Which an abstract Intelligence supplies ; 
Whose kingdom is where time and space are not : 

35 Of other converse, which mind, soul, and heart, 
Do, with united urgency, require. 
What more, that may not perish? Thou, dread Source, 
Prime, self-existing Cause and End of all, 
That, in the scale of being, fill their place, 

40 Above our human region, or below, 

Set and sustained ; — Thou, — who didst wrap the cloud 
Of infancy around us, that Thyself, 
Therein, with our simplicity awhile 



PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 127 

Might'st hold, on earth, communion undisturhed, — 
Who from the anarchy of dreaming sleep, 
Or from its death-like void, with punctual care, 
And touch as gentle as the morning light, 
5 Restor'st us, daily, to the powers of sense. 

And reason's steadfast rule, — Thou, Thou alone, 
Art everlasting. 

This universe shall pass away, — a frame 
Glorious ! because the shadow of Thy might, — ■ 

10 A step, or link, for intercourse with Thee. 
Ah ! if the time must come, in which my feet 
No more shall stray where meditation leads. 
By flowing stream, through wood, or craggy wild. 
Loved haunts like these, the unimprisoned mind 

15 May yet have scope to range among her own, 
Her thoughts, her images, her high desires. 

If the dear faculty of sight should fail, 
Still it may be allowed me to remember 
What visionary powers of eye and soul, 

20 In youth, were mine ; when, stationed on the top 
Of some huge hill, expectant, I beheld 
The sun rise up, from distant climes returned. 
Darkness to chase, and sleep, and bring the day, 
His bounteous gift ! or saw him, towards the deep 

25 Sink, with a retinue of flaming clouds 

Attended ! Then my spirit was entranced 
With joy exalted to beatitude ; 
The measure of my soul was filled with bliss, 
And holiest love ; as earth, sea, air, with light, 

30 With pomp, with glory, with magnificence ! 



LESSON XXXVI. MEMORY. W. G. CLARK. 

[This piece is designed as an exercise in 'smooth' and ' pure quality' 
of voice. The suavity of tone, which belongs to gentle and tender 
emotion, should prevail in the reading of this beautiful composition. 
A full, clear, but softened note, should be heard, throughout,] 

[pw.i.] 'T is sweet, to remember ! I would not forego 

The charm which the Past o'er the Present can throw, 
For all the gay visions that Fancy may weave 
In her web of illusion, that shines to deceive. 
5 We know not the future, — the past we have felt; — 
Its cherished enjoyments the bosom can melt; 



128 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11. 

Its raptures anew o'er our pulses may roll, 

When thoughts of the morrow fall cold on the soul. 

'T is sweet, to remember ! When storms are abroad, 
We see in the rainbow, the promise of God : 
5 The day may be darkened, — ^but far in the West, 
In vermilion and gold, sinks the sun to his rest ; 
With smiles like the morning he passeth away : 
Thus the beams of delight on the spirit can play, 
When in calm reminiscence we gather the flowers, 
10 Which Love scattered round us in happier hours. 

*T is sweet, to remember ! When friends are unkind, 
When their coldness and carelessness shadow the mind, 
Then, to draw back the veil w^hich envelopes a land, 
Where delectable prospects in beauty expand ; 

15 To smell the green fields, the fresh waters to hear. 
Whose once fairy music enchanted the ear ; 
To drink in the smiles that delighted us then, — 
To list the fond voices of childhood again. 
Oh ! this the sad heart, like a reed that is bruised, 

20 Binds up, Tvhen the banquet of hope is refused. 

'T is sweet, to remember ! And naught can destroy 
The balm-breathing comfort, the glory, the joy. 
Which spring from that fountain, to gladden our way. 
When the changeful and faithless desert or betray. 
25 I would not forget ! — though my thoughts should be 
dark ; 
O'er the ocean of life, I look back from my bark. 
And see the fair Eden, where once I was blest, 
A type and a promise of heavenly rest. 



LESSON XXXVn. OLD IRONSIDES. 0. W. HOLMES. 

[This piece is designed as an exercise for cultivating the 'oro- 
tund quality ', or full, round, and forcible voice, which belongs to 
energetic and declamatory expression. A loud, clear, ringing tone, 
should prevail, throughout the reading or recitation of such 
pieces.] 

\oro. q.'\ Ay, tear her tatter 'd ensign down ! 
[I] Long has it waved on high; 

And many an eye has danced to see 
That banner in the sky ; 
5 Beneath it rung the battle shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar ; — 



PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 129 

The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more ! 

Her deck, — once red with heroes' blood, 
Where knelt the vanquish'd foe, 
5 When winds were hurrying o'er the j^ood, 

And waves were white below, — 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquer'd knee ; 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 
10 The eagle of the sea ! 

Oh ! better that her shatter'd hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave ; 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep. 

And there should be her grave : 
15 Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail ; 
And give her to the god of storms. 

The lightning and the gale ! 



LESSON XXXVIII. THAT SILENT MOON. — G. W. DOANE. 

[The piece which follows, is intended for practice in ' soft ' and 
subdued 'force '. The voice, in this form of utterance, is meant 
to be reduced below its average energy, not by mere slackness, or 
absence of force, but by an intentional reduction of volume, so as 
to touch the ear delicately, yet vividly, as is naturally done in the 
expression of an affecting sentiment,] 

[x] That silent moon, that silent moon, 

Careering now through cloudless sky, 
Oh ! who shall tell what varied scenes 
Have pass'd beneath her placid eye, 
5 Since first, to light this wayward earth, 

She walk'd in tranquil beauty forth ? 

How oft has guilt's unhallow'd hand, 

And superstition's senseless rite. 
And loud, licentious revelry, 
10 Profaned her pure and holy light ! 

Small sympathy is hers, I ween, 
With sights like these, that virgin queen. 

But dear to her, in summer eve, 

By rippling wave, or tufted grove, , 



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[part n. 



When hand in hand is purely clasp'd, 
And heart meets heart in holy love, 
To smile, in quiet loneliness, 
And hear each whisper'd vow, and bless. 

5 Dispersed along the world's wide way, 

When friends are far, and fond ones rove, 
How powerful she to wake the thought, 

And start the tear for those we love. 
Who watch, with us at night's pale noon, 
10 And gaze upon that silent moon ! 

How powerful, too, to hearts that mourn. 
The magic of that moonlight sky, 

To bring again the vanish'd scenes, 

The happy eves of days gone by ; 

15 Again to bring, 'mid bu.rsting tears, 

The loved, the lost, of other years ! 

And oft she looks, that silent moon. 

On lonely eyes, that wake to weep. 
In dungeon dark, or sacred cell, 
20 Or couch, whence pain has banish'd sleep ; 

Oh ! softly beams that gentle eye. 
On those who mourn, and those who die. 

But beam on whomsoe'er she will, 
And fall where'er her splendor may, 
25 There's pureness in her chasten'd light, 

There 's comfort in her tranquil ray : 
What power is hers to soothe the heart, — 
What power the trembling tear to start ! 

The dewy morn let others love, 
30 Or bask them in the noontide ray ; 

There 's not an hour but has its charm. 
From dawning light to dying day : — 
But oh ! be mine a fairer boon, — 
That silent moon, that silent moon! 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 131 

LESSON XXXIX. EVENING ON THE ST. LAWRENCE. 

SILLIMAN. 

[This piece is desigaed for practice in 'moderate force'. The 
least excess of quantity, or volume of voice, in the reading of such 
pieces, disturbs the repose, and is at varia?ice with the gentleness, of 
the scene. At the same time, care should be taken, that the tone 
do not become lifeless, from want of animation. A qidet but 
distinct utterance, should be maintained, throughout all such 
passages.] 

[ ] From the moment the sun is down, every thing becomes 
silent on the shore, which our windows overlook ; and the 
murmurs of the broad St. Lawrence, more than two miles 
wide, immediately before us, and, a little way to the right, 
5 spreading to five or six miles in breadth, are sometimes, 
for an hour, the only sounds that arrest our attention. 
Every evening since we have been here, black clouds and 
splendid moonlight have hung over, and embellished this 
tranquil scene ; and, on two of these evenings, we have 

10 been attracted to the window, by the plaintive Canadian 
boat-song. In one instance, it arose from a solitary voya- 
ger, floating in his light canoe, which occasionally appeared 
and disappeared on the sparkling river, and in its distant 
course seemed no larger than some sportive insect. In 

15 another instance, a larger boat, with more numerous and 
less melodious voices, not, indeed, in perfect harmony, 
passed nearer to the shore, and gave additional life to the 
scene. A few moments after, the moon broke out from a 
throne of dark clouds, and seemed to convert the whole 

20 expanse of water into one vast sheet of glittering silver ; 
and, in the very brightest spot, at the distance of more 
than a mile, again appeared a solitary boat, but too distant 
to admit of our hearing the song, with which the boatman 
was probably solacing his lonely course. 



LESSON XL. AMERICA TO ENGLAND. W. ALLSTON. 

[This piece furnishes an example of the energetic style, which, in 
elocution, is termed < declamatory force ' . The properties of voice, 
in the reading and recitation of such passages, may all be desig- 
nated under the head of ' orotutid ' utterance, — a deep, full, and reso- 
nant tone, pervading the whole ; and every note combining the 
depth of the 'pectoraV with the smoothness of the 'oral quality'.] 

[I ] All hail ! thou noble land, 

Our fathers' native soil ! 
Oh ! stretch thy mighty hand, 
Gigantic grown by toil, 



f^ AMEEICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT TL 

O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore : 
For thou, with magic might, 
Canst reach to where the light 
Of Phoehus travels bright 

The world o'er ! 

5 The Genius of our clime, 

From pine-embattled steep. 
Shall hail the great sublime ; 
While the Tritons of the deep 
With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim, 
10 Then let the world combine, — 

O'er the main our naval line, 
Like the milky- way, shall shine 
Bright in fame ! 

Though ages long have passed 
15 Since our fathers left their home, 

Their pilot in the blast. 
O'er untra veiled seas to roam, — 
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins ! 
And shall we not proclaim 
20 That blood of honest fame, 

Which no tyranny can tame 

By its chains ? 

While the language, free and bold, 
Which the bard of Avon sung, 
25 In which our Milton told 

How the vault of heaven rung, 
When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host ; 
While this, with reverence meet, 
Ten thousand echoes greet, 
30 From rock to rock repeat 

Round our coast ; 

While the manners, while the arts, 

That mould a nation's soul, 

Still cling around our hearts, 
35 Between let ocean roll. 

Our joint communion breaking with the sun : 

Yet, still, from either beach, 

The voice of blood shall reach, 

Mvore audible than speech, 
40 " We are One ! " 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 133 

LESSON XLI. THE AMERICAN EAGLE. C. W. THOMSON. 

[The following piece affords scope for a degree of ' force ' beyond 
that which was exemplified in the preceding lesson. In the second, 
third, and fourth stanzas, it rises to what is distinguished, in elocu- 
tion, by the designation of ' empassioned force', — the fullest vehe- 
mence of voice, bordering on the shout, and, sometimes, passing into 
it. This style is found chiefly in lyric poetry ; but it is sometimes 
exemplified in the vehement energy of prose, on exciting occasions.] 

[II] Bird of the heavens ! whose matchless eye 

Alone can front the blaze of clay, 
And, wandering through the radiant sky, 
Ne'er from the sunlight turns away ; 
5 Whose ample wing was made to rise 
Majestic o'er the loftiest peak, 
On whose chill tops the winter skies, 

Around thy nest, in tempests, speak, — 
"What ranger of the winds can dare, 
10 Proud mountain king ! with thee compare ; 
Or lift his gaudier plumes on high 
Before thy native majesty. 
When thou hast ta'en thy seat alone, 
Upon thy cloud-encircled throne ? 

[ I ] 15 Bird of the cliffs ! thy noble form 

Might well be thought almost divine ; 
Born for the thunder and the storm, 

The mountain and the rock are thine ; 
And there, where never foot has been, 
20 Thy eyrie is sublimely hung, 
i Where low'ring skies their wrath begin, 
< < And loudest lullabies are sung 

( By the fierce spirit of the blast, 

When, his snow mantle o'er him cast, 
25 He sweeps across the mountain top, 
With a dark fury naught can stop. 
And wings his wild unearthly way 
Far through the clouded realms of day. 

Bird of the sun ! to thee, — to thee 
30 The earliest tints of dawn are known, 
And 't is thy proud delight to see 

The monarch mount his gorgeous throne ; 
Throwing the crimson drapery by. 
That half impedes his glorious way ; 
35 And mounting up the radiant sky. 

E'en what he is, — the king of day ! 



[II] 



[II] 



134 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



[I] 

[II] 
[I] 

[II] 
[I] 

[] 

[I] 



[ I ] Before the regent of the skies 

Men shrink, and veil their dazzled eyes ; 
But thou, in regal majesty. 
Hast kingly rank as well as he ; 
5 And with a steady, dauntless gaze 
Thou meet'st the splendor of his blaze. 

Bird of Columbia ! well art thou 

An emblem of our native land ; 
With unblenched front and noble brow, 
10 Among the nations doomed to stand ; 
Proud, like her mighty mountain woods ; 
Like her own rivers, wandering free ; 
', And sending forth from hills and floods, 
i The joyous shout of liberty ! 

15 Like thee, majestic bird ! like thee, 
She stands in unbought majesty. 
With spreading wing, untired and strong, 
That dares a soaring far and long. 
That mounts aloft, nor looks below, 
20 And will not quail though tempests blow. 

The admiration of the earth. 

In grand simplicity she stands ; 
Like thee, the storms beheld her birth, 

And she was nursed by rugged hands ; 
25 But, past the fierce and furious war. 

Her rising fame new glory brings. 
For kings and nobles come from far 

To seek the shelter of her wings. 
And like thee, rider of the cloud, 
30 She mounts the heavens, serene and proud, 
Great in a pure and noble fame. 
Great in her spotless champion's name, 
And destined in her day to be 
Mighty as Kome, — more nobly free. 

[ ] 35 My native land ! my native land ! 

To her my thoughts will fondly turn ; 
For her the warmest hopes expand. 

For her the heart with fears will yearn. 
Oh ! may she keep her eye, like thee, 
40 Proud eagle of the rocky wild, 
Fix'd on the sun of liberty. 

By rank, by faction unbeguiled ; 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 135 

Kemembering still the rugged road 
Our venerable fathers trod, 
When they through toil and danger press 'd, 
To gain their glorious bequest, 
5 And from each lip the caution fell 

To those who follow'd, " Guard it well." 



LESSON XLII. THE LAST EVENING BEFORE ETERNITY. 

J. A. HILLHOIJSE. 

[The following extract is intended as an exercise in 'low' pitch 
. of utterance. A deep, and comparatively hollow tone, pervades the 
reading of this piece, as it is characterized by the deepest solemnity. 
As an exercise in elocution, it is designed to cultivate the power of 
full and clear utterance, on a low key, — an attainment more difficult 
than most others, but of the greatest service to appropriate expres- 
sion, in all solemn passages, whether in sacred or secular composi- 
tions.] 

[o]^ By this, the sun his westering car drove low ; 
Round his broad wheels full many a lucid cloud 
Floated, like happy isles in seas of gold : 
Along the horizon castled shapes were piled, 
5 Turrets and towers, whose fronts embattled gleamed 
With yellow light : smit by the slanting ray, 
A ruddy beam the canopy reflected ; 
With deeper light the ruby blushed ; and thick 
Upon the seraphs' wings the glowing spots 

10 Seemed drops of fire. Uncoiling from its staff, 
With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung, 
Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits 
Cast off, upon the dewy air, huge flakes 
Of golden lustre. Over all the hill, 

15 The heavenly legions, the assembled world. 
Evening her crimson tint for ever drew. 

Round I gazed 
Where in the purple west, no more to dawn, 
Faded the glories of the dying day. 

20 Mild- twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud. 
The solitary star of evening shone. 
While gazing wistful on that peerless light. 
Thereafter to be seen no more, (as oft 
In dreams strange images will mix,) sad thoughts 

* For an example of ' very low ' utterance, see lesson xlvi. 



136 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



10 



15 



Passed o'er my soul. SorroAving I cried, " Farewell, 

Pale, beauteous planet, that display'st so soft, 

Amid yon glowing streak, thy transient beam, 

A long, a last farewell ! Seasons have changed, 

Ages and empires rolled, like smoke, away, 

But thou, unaltered, beam'st as silver fair 

As on thy birthnight ! Bright and watchful eyes, 

From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem 

With secret transport ! Natal star of love. 

And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy, 

How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray ! 

How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green. 

Signal of rest, and social converse sweet, 

Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered 

The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison ! 

Pride of the West ! beneath thy placid light 

The tender tale shall never more be told, — 

Man's soul shall never wake to joy again : 

Thou set'st for ever, — lovely orb, farewell ! " 



LESSON XLin. THE CHARACTER OF JESUS. S. C. TEACHER. 

[This extract is intended for practice on the ' niiddle', or average 
pitch of the voice, which belongs to serious communication in public 
reading or speaking, when not descending to the key of solemnity, 
nor rising to that of mere conversation. A moderately grave strain 
pervades the utterance, in such cases, and serves, if not overdone, to 
give earnestness and dignity to expression.] 

[] We find, in the life of Jesus, a union of qualities, 
which had never before met in any being on this 
earth. We find imbodied in his example the highest 
virtues both of active and of contemplative life. We 
5 see united in him a devotion to God the most intense, 
abstracted, unearthly, with a benevolence to man the most 
active, affectionate, and universal. We see qualities meet 
and harmonize in his character, which are usually thought 
the most uncongenial. We see a force of character, 

10 which difficulties cannot conquer, an energy which calam- 
ity cannot relax, a fortitude and constancy which suffer- 
ings can neither subdue nor bend from their purpose; 
connected with the most melting tenderness and sensibility 
of spirit, the most exquisite susceptibility to every soft and 

15 gentle impression. We see in him the rare union of zeal 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 137 

and moderation, of courage and prudence, of compassion 
and firmness ; we see superiority to the world without 
gloom or severity, or indifference or distaste to its pursuits 
and enjoyments. 
5 In short, there is something in the whole conception 
and tenor of our Saviour's character so entirely peculiar, 
something which so realizes the ideal model of the most 
consummate moral beauty ; something so lovely, so gra- 
cious, so venerable and commanding, that the boldest 

10 infidels have shrunk from it overawed, and, though their 
cause is otherwise desperate, have yet feared to profane 
its perfect purity. One of the most eloquent tributes to 
its sublimity, that was ever uttered, was extorted from the 
lips of an infidel. " Is there anything in it," he exclaims, 

15 *' of the tone of an enthusiast, or of an ambitious sectary ? 
What sweetness, what purity in his manners ; what touch- 
ing grace in his instructions ; what elevation in his max- 
ims ; what profound wisdom in his discourses ; what 
presence of mind, what skill and propriety in his an- 

20 swers ; what empire over his passions ! Where is the 
man, where is the sage, who knows how to act, to suffer, 
and to die, without weakness and without ostentation ? 

" When Plato paints his imaginary just man covered 
with all the ignominy of crime, and yet worthy of all the 

25 honors of virtue, he paints in every feature the character 
of Christ. What prejudice, what blindness must possess 
us, to compare the son of Sophroniscus to the son of Mary ! 
How vast the distance between them ! Socrates, dying 
without pain and without ignominy, easily sustains his 

30 character to the last; and if this gentle death had not 
honored his life, we might have doubted whether Soc- 
rates, with all his genius, was any thing more than a 
sophist. The death of Socrates, philosophizing tranquilly 
with his friends, is the most easy that one could desire ; 

35 that of Jesus, expiring in torture, insulted, mocked, exe- 
crated by a whole people, is the most horrible that one 
can fear. Socrates, when he takes the poisoned cup, 
blesses him who weeps as he presents it ; Jesus, in the 
midst of the most dreadful tortures, prays for his infuriated 

40 executioners. — Yes ! if the life and death of Socrates are 
those of a sage, the life and death of Jesus are wholly 
divine." 

12# 



138 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IK 

LESSON XLIV.— WOMAN.— MISS C. E. BEECHER. 

[The following piece exemplifies the medium, or average tone of 
ordinary, earnest conversation, in private company, and has its pitch 
higher on the scale, than the preceding lesson. The animation of 
the style, however, should not be permitted to carry the note up to 
the key of mere vivacity and exhilaration. The prevailing note, in the 
reading of this extract, is, properly, that of lively but respectful com- 
munication.] 

[ ] It is to mothers and to teachers, that the world is 
to look for the character, which is to be enslarnped oh 
each succeeding generation; for it is to them that the 
great business of education is almost exclusively com- 
5 mitted. And will it not appear by examination, that 
neither mothers nor teachers have ever been properly edu- 
cated for their profession ? What is the profession of a 
woman ? Is it not to form immortal minds, and to watch, 
to nurse, and to rear the bodily system, so fearfully and 

10 wonderfully made, and upon the order and regulation of 
which, the health and well-being of the mind so greatly 
depend ? 

But let most of our sex, upon whom these arduous du- 
ties devolve, be asked, — " Have you ever devoted any 

15 time and study, in the course of your education, to a pre- 
paration for these duties? Have you been taught any 
thing of the structure, the nature, and the laws, of the 
body which you inhabit ? Were you ever taught to un- 
derstand the operation of diet, air, exercise, and modes of 

20 dress, upon the human frame ? Have the causes which 
are continually operating to prevent good health, and the 
modes by which it might be perfected and preserved, ever 
been made the subject of any instruction ? " 

Perhaps almost every voice would respond, — " No ; we 

25 have attended to almost every thing more than to this : 
we have been taught more concerning the structure of the 
earth, the laws of the heavenly bodies, the habits and for- 
mation of plants, the philosophy of language, than con- 
cerning the structure of the human frame, and the laws 

30 of health and reason." But is it not the business, the 
profession of a woman, to guard the health, and form the 
physical habits of the young ? And are not the cradle of 
infancy, and the chamber of sickness, sacred to woman 
alone ? And ought she not to know, at least, some of the 

35 general principles of that perfect and wonderful piece of 
mechanism committed to her preservation and care ? 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 139 

The restoration of health is the physician's profession, 
but the preservation of it falls to other hands ; and it is 
believed that the time will come, when woman will be 
taught to understand something respecting the construc- 
5 tion of the human frame ; the philosophical results which 
will naturally follow from restricted exercise, unhealthy 
modes of dress, improper diet, and many other causes, 
which are continually operating to destroy the health and 
life of the young. 

10 Again, let our sex be asked respecting the instruction 

they have received, in the course of their education, on 

that still more arduous and difficult department of their 

' profession, which relates to the intellect and the moral 

susceptibilities, — " Have you been taught the powers and 

15 faculties of the human mind, and the laws by which it is 
regulated? Have you studied how to direct its several 
faculties ; how to restore those that are overgrown, and 
strengthen and mature those that are deficient ? Have 
you been taught the best modes of communicating knowl- 

20 edge, as well as of acquiring it ? Have you learned the 
best mode of correcting bad moral habits, and forming 
good ones ? Have you made it an object, to find how a 
selfish disposition may be made generous ; how a reserved 
temper may be made open and frank; how pettishness 

25 and ill-humor may be changed to cheerfulness and kind- 
ness ? Has any w^oman studied her profession in this 
respect ? 

It is feared, the same answer must be returned, if not 
from all, at least from most of our sex : — " No ; we have 

30 acquired wisdom from the observation and experience of 
others, on almost all other subjects ; but the philosophy 
of the direction and control of the human mind, has not 
been an object of thought or study." And thus it appears, 
that, though it is woman's express business to rear the 

35 body, and form the mind, there is scarcely any thing to 
which her attention has-been less directed. 



140 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



LESSON XLV. THE TREADMILL SONG. O. W. HOLMES. 

[This humorous lyric is introduced to exemplify the ' high ' pitch 
which belongs to gaiety and merrime?it. The note of the voice is, in 
the reading of such compositions as this, quite above that of dignified 
conversation. It is, properly, that of the talking tone, excited to the 
mood of mirth, which is always comparatively high-pitched. It hap- 
pens, also, to exemplify < loud ' and ' hvely ' utterance. The practice 
of passages of this description, imparts spirit and pliancy to the 
voice, and prevents habits of dull and monotonous reading. A high, 
ringing tone, such as we hear in the play- ground, should pervade 
the utterance, in the reading of this and similar compositions.] 

[° ^ 1] The stars are rolling in the sky, 
The earth rolls on below, 
And we can feel the rattling wheel 
Revolving as we go. 
5 Then tread away, my gallant boys, 

And make the axle fly ! 
Why should not wheels go round about, 
Like planets in the sky ? 

Wake up, wake up, my duck-legg'd man, 
10 And stir your solid pegs ; 

Arouse, arouse, my gawky friend, 
And shake your spider-legs : 
What though you 're awkward at the trade ? 
There 's time enough to learn ; 
15 So lean upon the rail, my lad, 

And take another turn. 

They 've built us up a noble wall 

To keep the vulgar out ; 
We 've nothing in the world to do 
20 But just to walk about : 

So faster, now, you middle men, 

And try to beat the ends ; 
It 's pleasant work to ramble round 

Among one's honest friends. 

25 Here tread upon the long man's toes j 

He sha'n't be lazy here : 
And punch the little fellow's ribs. 

And tweak that lubber's ear : — 
He 's lost them both : — don't pull his hair, 
30 Because he wears a scratch, 

But poke him in the farther eye, 
That is n't in the patch. 

Hark ! fellows, there 's the supper-bell, 
And so our work is done : 



I 



PJLSt II.] EEADER AND SPEAKER. 141 

It 's pretty spoTt,— suppose we take 

A round or two for fun ! 
If ever they should turn me out 
When I have better grown, 
5 Now hang me, but I mean to have 

A treadmill of my own I 



LESSON XL VI. DARKNESS. ByrOfl. 

iThe following piece is designed for practice in ' very slow ' utter- 
ance. The tone of horror, which pervades the whole description, 
l)esides being very lonv m pitch, is always slorv, to extreme. The 
chief object in view, in such exercises, is to obtain a perfect com- 
mand of the ' rate ' of utterance ; so as to give, when necessary, all 
the effect of wlenmity, awe, and even horror, which characterize the 
reading of such passages as abound in the ' Paradise Lost,' and m. 
the ^ Night Thoughts.' The least acceleration of voice, in such cases, 
destroys the effect of the reading, and impairs the pov/er of tfee pe- 
etry, oa the ear and the heart.] 

[^\ I had a dream, which was not all a dream. — - 
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars 
Did wander darkling in the eternal space, 
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth 
5 Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air ; 

Morn came, and went, — and cmme, and brought no day J 
And men forgot their passions, in the dread 
Of this their desolation ; and all hearts 
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light : 

10 And they did live by watch-fires ; and the thrones. 
The palaces of crowned kings, the huts, 
The habitations of all things which dwell, — 
Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed ; 
And men were gathered round their blazing homes, 

15 To look once more into each other's face : 
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye 
Of the volcanoes and their mountain torch. 

A fearful hope was all the world contained : 

Forests were set on fire ; but, hour by hour, 
20 They fell and faded ; and the crackling trunks 

Extinguished with a crash, — and all was black. 

The brows of men, by the despairing light, 

Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits 

The flashes fell upon them. Some lay down, 
25 And hid their eyes, and wept ; and some did rest 

Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled ; 

And others hurried to and fro, and fed 



I! 

142 AJIERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 3. 

Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up 
With mad disquietude on the dull sky, 
The pall of a past world ; and then again, 
With curses, cast them down upon the dust, 
5 And gnashed their teeth and howled. The wild birds 
shrieked. 
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, 
And flap their useless wings : the wildest birds 
Came tame and tremulous ; and vipers crawled 
10 And twined themselves among the multitude, 
Hissing, but stingless, — they were slain for food. 

And War, which for a moment was no more, 
Did glut himself again : — a meal was bought 
With blood, and each sat sullenly apart, 

15 Gorging himself in gloom ; no love was left : 

All earth was but one thought, — ^and that was death. 
Immediate and inglorious ; and men 
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh ; 
The meagre by the meagre were devoured; 

20 Even dogs assailed their masters, — all, save one. 
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 
The birds, and beasts, and famished men, at bay. 
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead 
Lured their lank jaws ; himself sought out no food, 

25 But, with a piteous and perpetual moan, 
And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand 
Which answered not with a caress, — he died. 

The crowd was famished by degrees ; but two 
Of an enormous city did sundve, 

30 And they were enemies ; they met beside 
The dying embers of an altar-place. 
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things 
For an unholy usage ; they raked up, 
And, shivering, scraped, mth their cold, skeleton hands, 

35 The feeble ashes ; and their feeble breath 
Blew for a little life, and made a flame, 
Which was a mockery ; then they lifted np 
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld 
Each other's aspects, — saw, and shrieked, and died,— ■ 

40 Even of their mutual hideousness they died, 
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow 
Famine had written j'?e?id!. The world was void ; 



PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER, 143 

The populous and the powerful was a lump, — 
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless, — 
A lump of death, — a chaos of hard clay. 
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, alj stood still; 
5 And nothing stirred within their silent depths : 
Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea. 
And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropped, 
They slept on the abyss without a surge : 
The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave ; 
10 The moon, their mistress, had expired before ; 
The winds were withered in the stagnant air ; 
And the clouds perished : Darkness had no need 
Of aid from them ; she was the universe. 



LESSON XLVii. — GOD. — Derzkaviu, translated by 
Bowring. 

[The piece which follows, is designed for practice in the ' very 
slow ' rate which characterizes deep awe. Reverence, solemnity, and 
awe, — but especially the last, — incline to extreme slowness, great 
prolongation of single sounds, and remarkably long pauses. The tone 
of these emotions is deep, although not so peculiarly low, as that 
which was exemplilied in the preceding lesson. Length of vowel 
sounds, and length of pauses, are the main objects of practice, in 
such exercises.] 

[ ^ ] Thou eternal One ! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all motion guide : 
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight ; 
Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 
5 Being above all beings ! Mighty One ! 

Whom none can comprehend, and none explore ; 
Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone : 
Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er, — 
Being whom we call God, — and know no more ! 

10 In its sublime research, philosophy 

May measure out the ocean-deep, — may count 
The sands or the sun's rays ; — ^but, God ! for Thee 
There is no weight nor measure : — none can mount 
Up to Thy mysteries. Reason's brightest spark, 

15 Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try 
To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark ; 
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, 
Even like past moments in eternity. 



I 



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10 



15 



20 



25 



30 



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AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 



TlKm from primeyal nothingness didst call 
First chaos, then existence : — Lord ! on Thee 
Eternity had its foundation ; — all 
Sprung forth from Thee : — of light, joy, harmony. 
Sole origin : — all life, all beauty Thine. 
Thy word created all, and doth create ; 
Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine. 
Thou art, and Avert, and shalt be ! Glorious ! Great ! 
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate ! 

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround, 

Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath ! 

Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, 

And beautifully mingled life and death ! 

As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze, 

So suns are born, so worlds sprung forth from Thee : 

And as the spangles in the sunny rays 

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 

Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise. 

A million torches lighted by Thy hand, 
Wander, unwearied, through the blue abyss : 
They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command, 
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 
What shall we call them ? Piles of crystal light, — 
A glorious company of golden streams, — 
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright, — 
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams ? 
But Thou to these art as the noon to night. 

Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea, 

All this magnificence in Thee is lost : — 

What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee ? 

And what am / then ? Heaven's unnumbered host, 

Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 

In all the glory of sublimest thought. 

Is but an atom in the balance, weighed 

Against Thy greatness, is a cipher brought 

Against infinity ! Oh ! what am I then ? Nought ! 

Nought ! yet the effluence of Thy light divine. 
Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too; 
Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine, 
As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 145 

Nought ! yet I live, and on hope's pinions fly- 
Eager towards Thy presence ; for in Thee 
I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high, 
Even to the throne of Thy divinitJ^ 
5 I am, O God ! and surely Thou must be ! 

Thou art ! directing, guiding all, Thou art ! 
Direct my understanding, then, to Thee ; 
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart : 
Though but an atom 'midst immensity, 
10 Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand ! 
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth, 
On the last verge of mortal being stand, 
Close to the realms where angels have their birth. 
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land ! 

15 The chain of being is complete in me : 

In me is matter's last gradation lost ; 

And the next step is spirit, — Deity ! 

I can command the lightning, and am dust ! 

A monarch, and a slave ; a worm, a god ! 
20 Whence came I here ? and how so marvellously 

Constructed and conceived ? Unknown ! — This clod 

Lives surely through some higher energy ; 

For from itself alone it could not be ! 

Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word 
25 Created 9ne ! Thou source of life and good ! 
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! 
Thy light. Thy love, in their bright plenitude 
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring 
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear 
30 The garments of eternal day, and wing 

Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, 
Even to its source, — to Thee, — its Author there. 

Oh ! thoughts ineffable ! Oh ! visions blest ! 

Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, 
35 Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast. 

And waft its homage to Thy Deity. 

God ! thus alone my lonely thoughts can soar ; 

Thus seek Thy presence, Being wise and good ! 

'Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore ; 
40 And when the tongue is eloquent no more, 

The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. 
13 



146 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



1^: 



'§ 
te 



LESSON XLVIII. NIAGARA. MRS. SIGOURNEY. 

[The following piece is designed for practice in the 'sl6w' utter- 
ance which characterizes the tones of sublwiity and awe. The ' rate ' 
of voice is not altogether so slow as in the preceding lesson ; yet it 
retains much of that effect which cannot be given without slowness 
of movement and full pauses. The note, in the style of this lesson, 
continues low, although jiot so remarkably deep as in the preceding. 
The principal object of practice, in this instance, is to secure that 
degree of ' slowness ' which marks the tones of wonder and aston- 
ishment.] 

[ "7 ] Flow on forever, in thy glorious robe 

Of terror and of beauty ! Yea, flow on 
Unfathomed and resistless ! God hath set 
His rainbow on thy forehead : and the cloud 
5 Mantled around thy feet. And he doth give 

Thy voice of thunder, power to speak of Him 
Eternally, — bidding the lip of man 
Keep silence, and upon thy rocky altar pour 
Incense of awe-struck praise. 

10 Ah ! who can dare 

To lift the insect-trump of earthly hope, 
Or love, or sorrow, 'mid the peal sublime 
Of thy tremendous hymn ? Even Ocean shrinks 
Back from thy brotherhood ; and all his waves 

15 Retire abashed. For he doth sometimes seem 

To sleep like a spent laborer, and recall 
His wearied billows from their vexing play, 
And lull them to a cradle calm ; but thou 
With everlasting, undecaying tide, 

20 Dost rest not, night or day. The morning stars, 

When first they sang o'er young creation's birth, 
Heard thy deep anthem ; and those wrecking fires. 
That wait the archangel's signal to dissolve 
This solid earth, shall find Jehovah's name 

25 GraA'-en, as with a thousand diamond spears. 

On thine unending volume. 

Every leaf, 
That lifts itself within thy Avide domain, 
Doth gather greenness from thy living spray, 

30 Yet tremble at the baptism. Lo ! — yon birds 

Do boldly venture near, and bathe their wing 
Arnid thy mist and foam. 'T is meet for them, 
To touch thy garment's hem, and lightly stir 
The snowy leaflets of thy vapor wreath, 

35 For they may sport unharmed amid the cloud, 



i 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 147 

Or listen at the echoing gate of heaven. 
Without reproof. But as for us, it seems 
Scarce lawful, with our broken tones, to speak 
Familiarly of thee. Methinks to tint 
5 Thy glorious features with our pencil's point, 
Or woo thee to the tablet of a song, 
Were profanation. 

Thou dost make the soul 
A wondering witness of thy majesty ; 

10 But as it presses with delirious joy 

To pierce thy vestibule, dost chain its step, 
And tame its rapture wdth the humbling view 
.Of its ov/n nothingness ; bidding it stand 
In the dread presence of the Invisible, 

15 As if to answer to its God througfh thee. 



LESSON XLIX. — THE UNITED STATES. BANCROFT. 

[The extract which follows, exemplifies the deliberate, or 'mode- 
rately slow' utterance, which belongs to the style of serious reading 
or speaking, wath reference to the purposes of public or general 
communication. Such passages exemplify, also, the < moderate' 
force, and the 'middle' pitch. To avoid hurry, on the one hand, 
and drawling, on the other, is the object in view, in the practice of 
such exercises. A grave and dignijkd style forbids any approach to 
haste ; but it does not imply a lagging slowness. 1 

[ ] The United States of America constitute an essential 
portion of the great political system, embracing all the 
civilized nations of the earth. At a period when the force 
of moral opinion is rapidly increasing, they have the prece- 
5 dence, in the practice and the defence of the equal rights 
of man. 

The sovereignty of the people, is here a conceded axiom ; 
and the laws, established upon that basis, are cherished 
with faithful patriotism. While the nations of Europe 

10 aspire after change, our constitution engages the fond 
admiration of the people, by whom it has been established. 
Prosperity follows the execution of even justice ; invention 
is quickened by the freedom of competition; and labor 
rewarded with sure and unexampled returns. 

15 Domestic peace is maintained without the aid of a mili- 
tary establishment ; public sentiment permits the existence 
of btit few standing troops, and those only along the sea- 
board and on the frontiers. A gallant navy protects our 
commerce, which spreads its banners on every sea, and 



148 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [fART II, 

extends its enterprise to every clime. Our diplomatic rela- 
tions connect us, on terms of equality and honest friend- 
ship, with the chief powers of the world ; while we avoid 
entangling participation in their intrigues, their passions, 
5 and their wars. 

Our national resources are developed by an earnest cul- 
ture of the arts of peace. Every man may enjoy the fruits 
of his industry; every mind is free to publish its convic- 
tions. Our government, by its organization, is necessarily 

10 identified with the interests of the people, and relies exclu- 
sively on their attachment, for its durability and support. 
Even the enemies of the state, if there be any among us, 
have liberty to express their opinions undisturbed ; and are 
safely tolerated, where reason is left free to combat their 

15 errors. Nor is the constitution a dead letter, unalterably 

fixed ; it has the capacity for improvement ; adopting 

whatever changes time and the public will may require, 

and safe from decay, so long as that will retains its energy. 

New states are foi-ming in the wilderness ; canals, inter- 

20 secting our plains and crossing our highlands, open numer- 
ous channels to internal commerce ; manufactures prosper 
along our water-courses ; the use of steam on our rivers 
and rail-roads, annihilates distance by the acceleration of 
speed. Our wealth and population, already giving us a 

25 place in the first rank of nations, are so rapidly cumula- 
tive, that the former is increased fourfold ; and the latter is 
doubled, in every period of twenty-two or twenty-three 
years. There is no national debt ; the community is opu- 
lent ; the government economical ; and the public treasury 

30 full. Religion, neither persecuted nor paid by the state, 
is sustained by the regard for public morals, and the con- 
victions of an enlightened faith. 

Intelligence is diffused with unparalleled universality ; 
a free press teems with the choicest productions of all na- 

35 tions and ages. There are more daily journals in the 
United States, than in the world beside. A public docu- 
ment of general interest is, within a month, reproduced in 
at least a million of copies, and is brought within the reach 
of every freeman in the country. 

40 An immense concourse of emigrants, of the most various 
lineage, is perpetually crowding to our shores ; and the 
principles of liberty, uniting all interests by the operation 
of equal laws, blend the discordant elements into harmoni- 
ous union. Other governments are convulsed by the 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 149 

innovations and reforms of neighboring states ; our consti- 
tution, fixed in the affections of the people, from whose 
choice it has sprung, neutralizes the influence of foreign 
principles, and fearlessly opens an asylum to the virtuous, 
5 the unfortunate, and the oppressed of every nation. 



LESSON L. WOUTER VAN TWILLER. WASHINGTON IRVING. 

[The following specimen of descriptive humor, requires the ' lively 
movement', in its rate of utterance. The voice is, in this instance, 
accelerated beyond the rate of serious communication, in any form ; 
although it does 7iot possess the rapidity which belongs to the excited 
style of lyric or dramatic poetr)'', in the most vivid style of humor- 
ous expression. This lesson combines, also, an exemplification of 
< moderate' force, and 'middle' pitch. The object in view in the 
practice of such exercises as this, is to gain animation and briskness, 
in utterance. A lagging or drawling tone is utterly incompatible 
with humorous' delineation. Mere rapidity, however, will not suc- 
ceed in imparting liveliness to style : the utterance must be slow 
enough to be distiiict and spirited.] 

[u] The renowned Wouter, (or Walter,) Van Twiller, 
l^\ was descended from a long line of Dutch burgo- 
masters, who had successively dozed away their li^es, 
and grown fat upon the bench of magistracy in Rotter- 
5 dam ; and who had comported themselves with such 
singular wisdom and propriety, that they were never 
either heard or talked of, — which, next to being universally 
applauded, should be the object of ambition of all ages, 
magistrates, and rulers. 

10 His surname, Twiller, is said to be a corruption of the 
original Twijjier^^ which, in English, means Doubter ; a 
name admirably descriptive of his deliberative habits. 
For, though he was a man shut up within himself, like an 
oyster, and of such a profoundly reflective turn, that he 

15 scarcely ever spoke except in monosyllables, yet did he 
never make up his mind on any doubtful point. This was 
clearly accounted for by his adherents, who affirmed that 
he always conceived every object on so comprehensive a 
scale, that he had not room in his head to turn it over, and 

20 examine both sides of it ; so that he always remained in 
doubt, merely in consequence of the astonishing magnitude 
of his ideas ! 

There are two opposite ways by which some men get 
into notice, — one by talking a vast deal, and thinking a 

* Pronounced Trveefler. 
13* 



I 



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150 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part h. 



little, .and the other, by holding their tongues and not 
thinking at all. By the first, many a vaporing, superficial 
pretender acquires the reputation of a man of quick parts, 
— by the other, many a vacant dunderpate, like the owl, 
5 the stupidest of birds, comes to be complimented, by a 
discerning world, with all the attributes of wisdom. This, 
by the way, is a mere casual remark, which I would not, 
for the universe, have it thought I apply to Governor Van 
Twiller. On the contrary, he was a very wise Dutchman ; 

10 for he never said a foolish thing, — and of such invincible 
gravity, that he was never known to laugh, or even to 
smile, through the course of a long and prosperous life. 
Certain, however, it is, there never was a matter proposed, 
however simple, and on which your common narrow- 

15 minded mortals would rashly determine at the first glance, 
but what the renowned Wouter put on a* mighty mysteri- 
ous, vacant kind of look, shook his capacious head, and 
having smoked, for five minutes, with redoubled earnest- 
ness, sagely observed, that " he had his doubts about the 

20 matter," — which in process of time gained him the charac- 
ter of a man slow in belief, and not easily imposed on. 

The person of this illustrious old gentleman, was as reg- 
ularly formed, and nobly proportioned, as though it had 
been moulded by the hands of some cunning Dutch statu- 

25 ary, as a model of majesty and lordly grandeur. He was 
exactly five feet six inches in height, and six feet five 
inches in circumference. His head was a perfect sphere, 
and of such stupendous dimensions, that dame Nature, 
with all her sex's ingenuity, would have been puzzled to 

30 construct a neck capable of supporting it ; wherefore she 
wisely declined the attempt, and settled it firmly on the 
top of his back bone, just between the shoulders. His 
body was of an oblong form, particularly capacious at 
bottom ; which was wisely ordered by Providence, seeing 

35 that he was a man of sedentary habits, and very averse to 
the idle labor of walking. His legs, though exceeding 
short, were sturdy in proportion to the weight they had to 
sustain ; so that, when erect, he had not a little the appear- 
ance of a robustious beer-barrel, standing on skids. His 

40 face, that infallible index of the mind, presented a vast 
expanse, perfectly unfurrowed or deformed by any of those 
lines and angles which disfigure the human countenance 
with what is termed expression. Two small gray eyes 
twinkled feebly in the midst, like two stars of lesser mag- 



i 



PAET n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 151 

nitude in the hazy firmament; and his full-fed cheeks, 
which seemed to have taken toll of every thing that went 
into his mouth, were curiously mottled and streaked with 
dusky red, like a Spitzenberg apple. 
5 His habits were as regular as his person. He daily 
took his four stated meals, appropriating exactly an hour 
to each ; he smoked and doubted eight hours ; and he slept 
the remaining twelve of the four-and-twenty. Such was 
the renowned Wouter Van Twiller, — a true philosopher ; 

10 for his mind was either elevated above, or tranquilly settled 
below, the cares and perplexities of this world. He had 
lived in it for years, without feeling the least curiosity to 
know whether the sun revolved round it, or it round the 
sun ; and he had watched, for at least half a century, the 

15 smoke curling from his pipe to the ceiling, without once 
troubling his head with any of those numerous theories, 
by which the philosopher would have perplexed his brain, 
in accounting for its rising above the surrounding atmos- 
phere. 

LESSON LI. INVOCATION OF MIRTH. MUtOTl. 

[The extract which follows, is an example of the ' quick ' rate of 
utterance, which characterizes the tones of joy and mirth. The 
voice, in the reading of such passages as the following, moves with 
^reat rapidity, in comparison with the ordinary rate. The utterance, 
in this instance, is ' high ' and ' loud', as well as ' very quick'. The 
practice of this style, is useful, not only for its immediate, but its 
general effect. It enlivens the tones of the voice, and imparts fluency 
m enunciation?^ 

[I ° o u] Haste thee. Nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest, and youthful Jollity, 
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles. 
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, 
5 Such as hang on Hebe's ^ cheek, 

And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides. 
And Laughter holding both his sides. 
Come, and trip it, as you go, 
10 On the light fantastic toe ; 

And in thy right hand lead with thee, 
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty ; 
And, if I give thee honor due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 

* The goddess of youth. 



1B2 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

To live with her, and live with thee, 

In unreproved pleasures free ; 

To hear the lark begin his flight, 

And, singing, startle the dull night, 
5 From his watch-tower in the skies, 

Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 

Then to come, in spite of sorrow. 

And at my window bid good morrow, 

Through the sweet brier or the vine, 
10 Or the twisted eglantine : 

While the ploughman, near at hand, 

Whistles o'er the furrowed land. 

And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 

And the mower whets his sithe, 
15 And every shepherd tells his tale. 

Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, 

While the landscape round it measures, 

Russet lawns, and fallows gray, 
20 Where the nibbling flocks do stray. 

Meadows trim, with daisies pied, 

Shallow brooks and rivers wide. 
Sometimes with secure delight, 

The upland hamlets will invite, 
fl5 When the merry bells ring round, 

And the jocund rebecs'^ sound 

To many a youth, and many a maid. 

Dancing in the checkered shade ; 

And young and old come forth to play, 
30 On a sunshine holy-day. 

Till the livelong daylight fail. 



LESSON LII.— MARCO BOZZARIS. F. G. HALLECK. 

[The marking of the following piece, is extended to the indication 
of 'tones' and 'modulation', 'stress', and 'quality'; as all these 
modes of voice, are inseparably connected in utterance, and all of 
them arise from emotion, as their common source. The principal 
points in emphasis, inflection, and pausing, are also indicated, wher- 
ever they are essential elements of 'expression'.] 

This heroic chief fell in an attack upon the Turkish 
camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platsea, August 20. 
1823, and expired in the moment of victory. .^"" 

* Kebec, a peculiar sort of violin. 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



15S 



words were, — " To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a 
pain." 

[x o — ] At midnight, in his guarded tent. 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour • 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, — 

Should tremble at his power ; 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams, his song of triumph \ heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring, — 
^ Then press'd that monarch's throne, — a kIng ; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's gdrden bird. 

[x o — ] An hour | pass'd on : — [1 u] the Turk awoke ; — 
[° — ] That bright dream II [q] was his last; — 
He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek, 
[I I ° ' u] " To ARMS ! they come : the Gr^ek ! the GR^EK !" 
He woke — [q] to die II midst ^a7?2e and smoke, 
And shmit, and groan, and sabre-stroke. 

And death-shots \ falling thick ' and fast | 
As lightnings ' from the mountain cloud; 
< And heard, with voice as triimpet loud, 
Bozzaris | cheer his band ; — 
" Strike — till the last arm'd foe ' expires, 
STRIKE — for your altars ' and yoar fires, 
STRIKE — for the green graves of your sires, 
God, — and your native land ! " 



[ir ^] 



[I] They fought, like brave men, long ' and ivell. 
They piled that ground with Moslem sldin; 
< They conquered; — [x ^ — .] but Bozzaris \ fell, 
Bleeding ' at every vein. 
[x°— ] His few ' surviving comrades II saw 

His smile, when rang their proud hurrXh, 
And the red field ' was won ; 
[xx o = ]Then saw | in death ' his eyelids close \ 
Calmly, as to a nighfs repose. 
Like flowers • at set of siin. 

[x oo ""] Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 

Come to the mother, when she feels, 
For i\ie first time, hex first bom's breath; — 
Come ' when the blessed seals ' 



'm 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[PAET II. 



Which close the pestilence \ are broke, 
< And crowded cities | wail its stroke ; — 
Come I in Consiimption's ghastly form, 
[I] The earthquake shock, the ocean storm : — 

Come 1 when the heart ' beats high ' and warrrij 
With banquet-song, and dance, and 2<;t7ie, — 
[XoQ— ] And thou art terrible : the tear, 

The groan, the A-^ieZZ, the pall, the ^zer, 
And all we know, or d.ream, ox fear ' 
Of agony, are thine. 



[i-u] 



[X,-] 



[II] 



But to the HERO, — when his sword 

Has icon the battle for the /ree, — 
Thy voice | sounds like a prophefs loord, 
And ' in its hollow tones \ are heard 

The thanks of millions | yet to ie. 
Bozzdris ! with the storied brave ' 

Greece nurtured in her glory'' s time, 
i?e5^ thee : — there is no prouder grave. 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom ' without a sigh ; 
For ?^ow art Freedom's now, and Fame's,- 
One of the few, the immortal names, 

That were not born to die. 



LESSON LIII. WATERLOO. ByrOTL. 

[Marked as Lesson LIL] 

[° — ] There was a sound ' of revelry by night, 

And Belgium's capital li had gather'd ' then | 
-c Her beauty ' and her chivalry ; and bright ' 

< The lamps' shone | o'er fair women \ and brave men: 
[1 °] A thousand hearts | beat happily, and when 

[x] < Music ' arose ' with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes | look'd love ' to eyes which spake again ; 

< And all ' went merry as a marriage-bell : 

[x o u] But HirsH ! HARK ! — a deep sound \ strikes ' like a 
\a. q!\ rising knell ! 

[I ° u] Did ye not hear it ? [I — ] No ; 't was but the wind. 
Or the car \ rattling o'er the stony street ; 
On with the dance ! let joy ' be unconfined ; 
<: iVb sleep till morn, when Youth ' and Pleasure ' meet, 

< To chase the glowing hours ' vj\\h flying feet — 



PAET n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 155 

[x o u] But HARK ! — that heavy sound \ breaks in ' once more, 
-< As if the clouds II its echo ' would repeat ; 

< And nearer^ clearer, deadlier than before ! 

[||°°u u] Arm ! — ARM ! — [| ^ — ] it is, — it is, — the cannon's open- 
la. q.l ing roar ! 

[ ] Within a windowed niche of that high hall II 
Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear • 
That sound ' the fijst \ amidst the festival, 
And caught its tone ' with death's prophetic ear ; 
And when they smiled ' because he deem'd it near. 
His heart \ more truly kneio that peal ' too well II 
Which stretched hi-s father ' on a bloody bier, 

< And roused the vengeance | blood ' alone ' would 

quell : 
-<. He rush'd into i\iQ field, ^ndi, foremost fighting, fell. 

[x o u] Ah ! then ' and there ' was hurrying to and fro, 
\a. q.^ And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which | but an hour ago II 
Blush' d 1 at the praise of their oicm loveliness ; 
And there were sudden ydrtings, such as press 
The life ' from out ijoung hearts, and choking sighs I' 
[o ""] Which ne'er might be repeated ; ivho could guess W 

If ever more ' should meet ' those mutual eyes, 
[|7oo=] Since upon night ' so sioeet, such awful morn \ could 
rise ! 

[I o u] And there was mounting ' in hot haste ; the steed. 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
y^QTii pouring forward ' with impetuous speed, 
And sioiftly forming ' in the ranks of war : 
[I o — ] And the deep thunder, peal on peal ' afar ; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum \ 

[! u] Roused up the soldier ' ere the morning-star ; 

[x ° u] While thronged the citizens \ with terror dumb. 

Or whispering II with white lips ' [°] " The foe ! They 

[a. y.] COME, they COME !" 

[|°] And ?/;zZi ' and high | the ^'Cdfneron's gathering" 
rose ! 
[j3M. if.] The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills \ 

Have heard II and heard, too, have her Saxon foes ; 
[I p — ] H''?!^ ' in the noon of night ' that pibroch ' thrills, 
Savage \ and shrill ! But with the breath which fills • 
•< Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers | 



156 



AMERICAN COiyiMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



< With the Jierce native daring II which instils | 

< The^ stirring memory ' of a thousand years ; 

[II o u] And Evan's, Donald's fame II rings | in each clans- 
man's ears ! 



[Xo-] 

[b ^-"5.] 



And Ardennes'^ ' waves above them ' her green 

leaves, — 
Dewy, with nature's, tear-drops, — as they pass, 
Grieving,— if aught inanimate ' e'er grieves, — 
Over the unreturning brave, — [^ q] aids ! 
Ere evening ' to be trodden like the grass II 
Which noio ' beneath them, but above ' shall grow, 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass | <; 
-=: Of living valor \ [u] rolling on the foe, 

<^[u] And burning with high hope, [x ^o =] shall moulder ' 
cold I and low. > 

[ ] Last noon II beheld them full of lusty life, 
[b] Last eve II in beauty's circle ' proudly gay, 

< The midnight | brought the signal sound of strife, 

< The morn II the marshalling in arwzs, — the d&y II 

< Battle's magnificently stern array ! 

[x o — ] The thunder -clouds \ close o'er it, which ' when rent, 

The earth | is cover'd thick \ with o^Aer clay, 
[x oo = ] Which her divn clay shall cover, heap'd and p^nt, 

Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one ' red ' burial < 



Il;i' 



LESSON Liv. — PRUSSIAN BATTLE HYMN. — Translated from 

Korner.i 

[Marked as Lesson LII.] 

[x o — ] Father of earth ' and heaven ! I call Thy name ! 

< Round me the smoke ' and shout ' of battle \ roll ; 
[I — ] My eyes \ are dazzled \ with the rustling flam£ ; 
[x o — ] Father, sustain, an untried soldier's soul. 
[I — ] Or life, or death, whatever be the goal | 

That crowns j or cZo^e^ round ' ^Ai^ struggling hour. 

Thou knowest, if ever | from my spirit ' stole ' 
One ' deeper prayer, 't was | that no cloud ' might 
lower ' 
On my young fame! — [I ^ — ] Oh ! hear ! God of eter- 
nal power ! 

* Pronounced Arden. 

I The in this word has no correspondent sound in English : it 
is nearly, as the French au. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 157 

[— ] God ! Thou art merciful. — The wintry storm, 

The cloud \ that pours the thunder ' from its 
womb, 
But show the sterner grandeur of Thy form ; 

< The lightnings, glancing through the midnight 

gloom, 
[x o — ] To Faith's raised eye ' as calm, as lovely come, 

As splendors of the autumnal ' evening star, 
[xx° — ] As roses \ shaken by the breeze'' s plume, 

When I like cool iricense \ comes the deioy air, 
And on the golden ivdve, the sun-set \ burns afar. 

[1 o ~] G^d ■ Thou art mighty ! — At thy footstool bound, 
Lie gazing to thee, Chance, and Life, and Death; 

< Nor in the Angel-circle | flaming round, 

< Nor in the million worlds \ that blaze beneath, 

^ Is one I that can withstand Thy ivrath's hot breath. 
Wo \ in Thy frown — in Thy smile | victory ! 
[oo] Hear my last prayer ! — I ask no mortal wreath ; 

[I] Let but these eyes my rescued country see, 
[o] Then take my spirit. All Omnipotent, to Thee. 

[II ° u] Now for the fight !— now for the cannon-peal ! — 
Forward ! — through blood, and toil, and cloud, 
and fir el 
' Glorious ' the shout, the shock, the crash of steel, 
The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire ! 
They shake, — like broken waves \ their squares 
retire. 
ON them hussars ! — Now ' give them rein ' and 

heel ! 
^ Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire : — 
Earth ' cries for blood, — in THtjNDER ' on them 
^ wheel ! 

[|o— ] This hour II to Europe's fate II shall set the triumph- 
seal ! 

lesson LV. BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. MrS. HcmaTlS. 

[This, and whatever other lessons the teacher thinks proper to select, 
may be marked, by the reader, as Lesson LIL] 

The celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, having made 
many ineffectual efforts to procure the release of his father, the Count 
Saldana, who had been imprisoned by King Alfonso of Asturias, 
almost from the time of Bernardo's birth, at last took up arms in 
despair. The war which he maintained, proved so destructive, that the 
men of the land gathered round the king, and united in demanding 

14 



158 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[pAUT n. 



i 



llfl 



Saldana's liberty. Alfonso accordingly offered Bernardo immediate 
possession of his father's person, in exchange for his castle at Carpio. 
Bernardo, without hesitation, gave up his strong hold, with all his 
captives, and being assured that his father was then on his way from 
prison, rode forth with the king to meet him. "And when he saw his 
father approaching, he exclaimed," says the ancient chronicle, "Oh! 
God, is the Coum Saldana indeed coming ? " " Look where he is," 
replied the cruel king, "and now go and greet him, whom you have 
so long desired to see." — The remainder of the story will be found re- 
lated in the ballad. The chronicles and romances leave us nearly in 
the dark, as to Bernardo's future history after this event, with the ex- 
ception of the final interview in which he renounced his allegiance 
to the king. 

The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, 

And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire ; 

" I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, 

I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! — Oh ! break my father's chain ! ", 

" Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day : 
Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet him on his way." — 
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, 
And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. 

And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, 
With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land ; 
— " Now haste, Bernardo, haste ! for there, in very truth, is he, 
The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see." 

His dark eye flashed, — his proud breast heaved, — his cheek's hue 

came and went, — 
He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there dismounting 

bent, 
A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took — 
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook 1 

That hand was cold, — a frozen thing, — it dropped from his like lead, — 
He looked up to the face above, — the face was of the dead. 
A plume waved o'er the noble brow, — the brow was fixed and white ; — 
He met at last his father's eyes, — but in them was no sight ! 

Up from the ground he sprang and gazed ; — but who could paint that 

gaze? 
They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze : — 
They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood ; 
For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. 

"Father !" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then — 
Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men ! 
He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown, — 
He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. 

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, 
" No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for now, — 



PART II.] EEADER AND SPEAKER. 159 

My king is false, my hope betrayed I My father — oh ! the worth, 
The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth ! 

'' I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire ! beside thee yet ! — 
I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met ! — 
Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then ; — for thee my fields 

were won ; 
And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son !" 

Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein. 
Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ; 
And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led. 
And sternly set them face to face, — the king before the dead : — 

" Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss ? 
— Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me what is this? 
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, — give answer, where are 

they] 
— ^If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold 

clay ! 

" Into these glassy eyes put light, — be still ! keep down thine ire, — 
Bid these white lips a blessing speak, — this earth is not my sire : — 
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed, — 
Thou canst not? — and a king ! — his dust be mountains on thy head !" 

He loosed the steed, — his slack hand fell ; — upon the silent face 
He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad 

place : 
His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial strain : — 
His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of Spain. 



LESSON LVI. WILLIAM KIEFT. WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Wilhelmus Kieft was in form, features, and character, 
the very reverse of Wouter Van Twiller, his renowned 
predecessor. He was of very respectable descent, his fa- 
ther being inspector of windmills, in the ancient town of 
Saardam ; and our hero, we are told, made very curious 
5 investigations into the nature and operations of those ma- 
chines, when a boy, which is one reason why he after- 
wards came to be so ingenious a governor. His name, 
according to the most ingenious etymologists, was a cor- 
ruption of Kyver, that is to say, wrangler or scolder, and 
10 expressed the hereditary disposition of his family ; which, 
for nearly two centuries, had kept the windy town of 
Saardam in hot water, and produced more tartars and 
brimstones, than any ten families in the place ; — and so 



160 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET H. 

truly did Wilhelmus Kieft inherit this family endowment, 
that he had scarcely been a year in the discharge of his 
government, before he was universally known by the ap- 
pellation of William, the Testy. 
5 He was a brisk, waspish, little old gentleman, who had 
dried and withered away, partly through the natural pro- 
cess of years, and partly from being parched and burnt up 
by his fiery soul ; which blazed like a \^ehement rushlight 
in his bosom, constantly inciting him to most valorous 

10 broils, altercations, and misadventures. I have heard it 
observed, by a profound and philosophical judge of human 
nature, that if a woman waxes fat, as she grows old, the 
tenure of her life is very precarious, but if happily she 
withers, she lives forever. — Such likewise was the case 

15 with William, the Testy, who grew tougher in proportion 
as he dried. He was some such a little Dutchman, as we 
may now and then see stumping briskly about the streets 
of our city, in a broad-skirted coat, with huge buttons, an 
old-fashioned cocked hat stuck on the back of his head, 

20 and a cane as high as his chin. His visage was broad, 
and his features sharp, his nose turned up with the most 
petulent curl ; his cheeks were scorched into a dusky red, 
— doubtless in consequence of the neighborhood of two 
fierce little gray eyes; through which his torrid soul 

25 beamed with tropical fervor. The corners of his mouth 
were curiously modelled into a kind of fretwork, not a 
little resembling the wrinkled proboscis of an irritable pug 
dog ; — in a word, he was one of the most positive, restless, 
ugly, little men, that ever put himself in a passion about 

30 nothing. 

Such were the personal endowments of William, the 
Testy ; but it was the sterling riches of his mind, that 
raised him to dignity and power. In his youth, he had 
passed, with great credit, through a celebrated academy at 

35 the Hague, noted for producing finished scholars, with a 
despatch unequalled, except by certain of our American 
colleges. Here he skirmished very smartly, on the fron- 
tiers of several of the sciences, and made so gallant an 
inroad in the dead languages, as to bring off captive a 

40 host of Greek nouns and Latin verbs, together with divers 
pithy saws and apothegms, all which he constantly paraded 
in conversation and writing, with as much vain-glory 
as would a triumphant general of yore display the spoils 
of the countries he had ravaged. 



TULT n.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



1^1 



It is in knowledge, as in swimming ; he v/ho osten- 
tatiously sports and flounders on the surface, makes more 
noise and splashing, and attracts more attention, than the 
industrious pearl diver, who plunges in search of trea- 
6 sures at the bottom. The " universal acquirements " of 
William Kieft were the subject of great marvel and ad- 
miration among his countrymen,— he figured about at the 
Hague, with as much vain-glory, as does a profound Bonze 
at Pekin, who has mastered half the letters of the Chinese 

10 alphabet ; and, in a word, was unanimously pronounced 
a universal genius ! — I have known many universal ge- 
niuses in my time ; though, to speak my mind freely, I 
never knew one, who, for the ordinary purposes of life, 
was worth his weight in straw ; — but, for the purposes of 

15 government, a little sound judgment, and plain common 
sense, is worth all the sparkling genius that ever wrote 
poetry, or invented theories. 



LESSON LVII. PALMYRA.— WILLIAM WARE. 

Letter from a Roman nobleman, resident at Palmyra. 

If the gods, dear Marcus and Lucilia, came down to 

dwell upon earth, they could not but choose Palmyra for 

their seat, both on account of the general beauty of the 

city and its surrounding plains, and the exceeding sweet- 

5 ness and serenity of its climate. It is a joy here only to 

sit still and live. The air, always loaded with perfume, 

seems to convey essential nutriment to those who breathe 

it ; and its hue, especially when a morning or evening sun 

shines through it, is of that golden cast, which, as poets 

10 feign, bathes the top of Olympus. 

Never do we tremble here before blasts like those which 
from the Apennines sweep along the plains and cities of 
the Italian coast. No extremes of either heat or cold, are 
experienced in this happy spot. In winter, airs, which, in 
15 other places, equally far to the north, would come bearing 
with them an icy coldness, are here tempered by the vast 
deserts of sand, which stretch away in every direction, and 
which, it is said, never wholly lose the heat treasured up 
during the fierce reign of the summer sun. And, in sum- 
20 mer, the winds which, as they pass over the deserts, are 
indeed like the breath of a furnace, long before they reach 
the city change to a cool and refreshing breeze, by travers- 
ing, as they do, the vast tracts of cultivated ground, which, 
14^ 



162 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pAKT U. 

as I have already told you, surround the capital, to a very 
great extent on every side. 

Palmyra is the very heaven of the body. Every sense 
is fed to the full, with that which it chiefly covets. But 
5 when I add to this, that its unrivalled position, in respect 
to a great inland traffic, has poured into the lap of its in- 
habitants a sudden and boundless flood of wealth, making 
every merchant a prince, you will truly suppose, that 
however heartily I extol it for its outward beauties, and 

10 all the appliances of luxury, I do not conceive it very fa- 
vorable in its influences upon the character of its pop- 
ulation. 

Palmyrenes, charming as they are, are not Romans. 
They are enervated by riches, and the luxurious sensual 

15 indulgences which they bring along, by necessity, in their 
train ; — all their evil power being here increased by the 
voluptuous softness of the climate. I do not say, that 
all are so. All Rome cannot furnish a woman more 
truly Roman than Fausta, nor a man more worthy that 

20 name than Gracchus. It is of the younger portion of the 
inhabitants I now speak. These are, without exception, 
efleminate. They love their country and their great 
queen ; but they are not a defence, upon which in time of 
need to rely. Neither do I deny them courage. They 

25 want something more vital still, — bodily strength and mar- 
tial training. Were it not for this, I should almost fear 
for the issue of any encounter between Rome and Pal- 
myra. 

But, as it is, notwithstanding the great achievements of 

30 Odenatus and Zenobia, I cannot but deem the glory of 
this state to have risen to its highest point, and even to 
have passed it. You may think me to be hasty, in form- 
ing this opinion ; but I am persuaded you will agree with 
me, when you shall have seen more at length the grounds 

35 upon which I rest it, as they are laid down in my last 
letter to Portia. 

LESSON LVm. BEAUTIES OF NATURE. SAMUEL G. HOWE. 

There is nothing in which the goodness of God is more 
apparent, than in the unsparing flood of beauty which he 
pours out upon all things around us. What is more strik- 
ing than the fact, that this beautiful canopy of clouds, 
5 which curtain over our globe, when looked dov/n upon 
from a mountain-top, or from a balloon, is like a leaden 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 163 

lake, without beauty, or even color; it is like the dull 
canvass on the reverse of a beautiful picture; but from 
within,- — from where God meant man to see it, it is 
adorned, beautified, and variegated, iiltea manner inimi- 
5 table by art. 

Dainty people cross the seas, to be thrilled by the wild 
sketches of Salvator Rosa, or to languish over the soft 
tints of Guido ; and the rich man beggars whole villages, 
to hang up in his gallery three square feet of the pencil- 

10 work of Corregio; but God hangs up in the summer 
evening sky, for the poorest peasant boy, a picture whole 
leagues in extent, the tints of which would make Raphael 
throw down his pencil in despair ; and when He gathers 
together the dark folds of the sky, to prepare the autumn 

15 thunder storm. He heaves up the huge clouds into moun- 
tain masses, throws them into wild and sublime attitudes, 
colors them with the most lowering hues, and forms a 
picture which Michael Angelo, with all his genius, could 
not copy. 

20 The rich man adorns his cabinet with a few costly 
works, which hang unchanged for years, while the poor 
man's gallery is not only adorned with pictures that 
eclipse the chef d'cRUvres of human genius, but they are 
continually changed, and every hour a new one is hung 

25 up to his admiring gaze ; for the firmament rolls on, and, 
like a great kaleidoscope, at every turn, presents a new 
and beautiful combination of light, and shade, and color. 
Let not its rich pictures roll away unheeded ; let not its 
lessons be lost upon the young; but let them, in admiring 

30 it, know that God's great hand is ever turning it, for the 
happiness of all his children. 



LESSON LIX. ^AN INTERESTING ADVENTURE. V^^ILLIAM J. 

SNELLING. 

I wandered far into the bare prairie, which was spread 
around me like an ocean of snow, the gentle undulations 
here and there having no small resemblance to the ground 
swell. When the sun took oflT his night-cap of mist, (for 
the morning was cloudy,) the glare of the landscape, or 
rather snowscape, was absolutely painful to my eyes ; but 
a small veil of green crape obviated that difficulty. To- 
ward noon I was aware of a buffalo, at a long distance, 



W^ AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART II. 

turning up the snow with his nose and feet, and cropping 
the withered grass beneath. I always thought it a deed 
of mercy to slay such an old feiloAV, he looks so miserable 
and disconten#d with himself. As to the individual in 
5 question, I determined to put an end to his long, turbu- 
lent, and evil life. 

To this effect, I approached him, as a Chinese malefac- 
tor approaches a mandarin, — that is to say, prone, like a 
serpent. But the parity only exists with respect to the 

10 posture ; for the aforesaid malefactor expects to receive 
pain, whereas I intended to inflict it. He was a grim- 
looking barbarian, — and, if a beard be a mark of wisdom, 
Peter, the Hermit, was a fool to him. So, when I had at- 
tained a suitable proximity, I appealed to his feelings with 

15 a bullet. He ran, — -and I ran ; and I had the best reason 
to run, — for he ran after me, and I thought that a pair of 
horns might destroy my usual equanimity and equilibri- 
um. In truth, I did not fly any too fast, for the old 
bashaw was close behind me, and I could hear him 

20 breathe. I threw away my gun ; — and, as there was na 
tree at hand, I gained the centre of a pond of a few 
yards area, such as are found all over the prairies in 
February. 

Here I stood secure, as though in a magic circle, well 

25 knowing that neither pigs nor buffaloes can walk upon 
ice. My pursuer was advised of this fact also, and did 
not venture to trust himself on so slippery a footing. Yet 
it seemed that he was no gentleman ; at least he did not 
practise forgiveness of injuries. He perambulated the 

30 periphery of the pond, till I was nearly as cold as the ice 
under me. It was worse than the stone jug, or the black- 
hole at Calcutta. Ah ! thought I, if I only had my gun, 
I would soon relieve you from your post. 

But discontent was all in vain. Thus I remained, and 

35 thus he remained, for at least four hours. In the mean 
while, I thought of the land of steady habits ; of baked 
beans, and pumpkins, and codfish on Saturdays. There, 
said I, to myself, my neighbor's proceeding would be 
reckoned unlawful, I guess ; for no one can be held in 

40 custody without -a warrant and sufficient reason. If ever 
I get back, I won't be caught in such a scrape again. 

Grief does not last forever ; neither does anger ; — and 
my janitor, either forgetting his resentment, which, to say 
the truth, was not altogether groundless, or thinking it 



n 



1 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 165 

was useless, or tired of his self-imposed duty, or for some 
reason or other, bid me farewell with a loud bellow, and 
walked away to a little oasis that was just in sight, and 
left me to my meditations. I picked up my gun, and fol- 
5 lowed. He entered the wood, — and so did I, just in time 
to see him fall and expire. 

The sun was setting; and the weather was getting 
colder and colder. I could hear the ground crack, and the 
trees split, with its intensity. I was at least twenty miles 

10 from home ; and it behoved me, if I did not wish to " wake 
in the morning and find myself dead," to make a fire as 
speedily as possible. I now first perceived that, in my 
very natural hurry to escape from my shaggy foe, I had 
lost the martin-skin, wherein I carried my flint, steel, and 

15 tinder. This was of little consequence ; I had often made 
a fire by the aid of my gun before, and I drew my knife 
and began to pick the flint. Death to my hopes, — at the 
very first blow, I struck it ten yards from the lock, and it 
was lost forever in the snow. 

20 " Well," said I to myself, " I have cooked a pretty kettle 
of fish, and brought my calf's head to a fine market. 
Shall I furnish those dissectors, the wolves, with a sub- 
ject, or shall cold work the same eflect on me that grief 
did upon Niobe? Would that I had a skin like a buf- 

25 falo ! " 

Necessity is the spur, as well as the mother, of invention ; 
and, at these last words, a new idea flashed through my 
brain like lightning. I verily believe that I took ofl" the 
skin of my victim, in fewer than ten strokes of my knife. 

30 Such a hide entire is no trifle ; it takes a strong man to 
lift it ; — but I rolled the one in question about me, with 
the hair inward, and lay down to sleep, tolerably sure that 
neither Jack Frost, nor the wolves, could get at me, through 
an armor thicker and tougher, than the sevenfold shield 

35 of Ajax. 

Darkness closed in ; and a raven began to sound his 
note of evil omen, from a neighboring branch. " Croak on, 
black angel," said I ; " I have heard croaking before now, 
and am not to be frightened by any of your color." Sud- 

40 denly a herd of wolves struck up at a distance, probably 
excited by the scent of the slain buflalo. " Howl on," said 
I ; " and, being among wolves, I will howl too, — for I like 
to be in the fashion : but that shall be the extent of our 
intimacy." Accordingly, I uplifted my voice, like a peli- 



166 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 



can in the wilderness, and gave them back their noise, 
with interest. Then I lay down again, and moralized. 
This, thought I, is life. What would my poor mother 
say, if she were alive now ? I have read books of adven- 
5 tures, but never read anything like this. I fell asleep, 
without farther ado. 



LESSON LX. THOUGHTS ON POLITENESS. GEO. S. HILLARD. 

The common notion about politeness is, that it is a thing 
of the body, and not of the mind ; and that he is a polite 
man who makes certain motions in a graceful manner, and 
at proper times and places. We expect the dancing mas- 
5 ter to teach our children " manners," as well as the art of 
cutting awkward capers to music. But the truth is, that 
we degrade politeness by making it anything less than a 
cardinal virtue. 

The happiness of life is made up of an infinite number 

10 of little things, and not of startling events and great emo- 
tions ; and he who daily and hourly diffuses pleasure 
around him by kind offices, frank salutations and cheerful 
looks, deserves as well of his species, as he, who, neglect- 
ing or despising all these, makes up for it by occasional 

15 acts of generosity, justice, or benevolence. Besides, the 
opportunity of doing great things but rarely occurs, while 
a man has some dozens of chances, every day of his life, 
to show whether he be polite or not. 

A truly polite man must, in the first place, have the gift 

20 of good sense, for without that foundation, it is idle to 
think of rearing any, even the smallest superstructure. 
He must know when to violate that code of conventional 
forms, which common consent has established, and when 
not ; for it is equally a mark of weakness, to be a slave 

25 to these forms, or to despise them. He must have pene- 
tration and tact enough, to adapt his conversation and 
manner to circumstances and individuals ; for that which 
is politeness in the drawing-room, may be downright rude- 
ness in the bar-room or the stage-coach, as well as the 

30 converse. 

Above all, he must have that enlarged and catholic 
spirit of humility, which is the child of self-knowledge, 
and the parent of benevolence, (indeed, politeness itself is 
merely benevolence, seen through the little end of a spy- 

35 glass,) which, not content with bowing low to this rich 



YART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



167 



man or that fine lady, respects the rights, and does justice 
to the claims, of every member of the great human family. 
As for the fastidious and exclusive persons, who look 
down upon a man created and upheld by the same power 
5 as themselves, and heir to the same immortal destinies, 
because he does not dress in a particular style, or visit in 
certain houses, they are out of the question. If they are 
too weak to perceive the grotesque absurdity of their own 
conduct, they have not capacity enough to master the al- 

10 phabet of good manners. If angelic natures be susceptible 
of ludicrous emotions, we know of nothing more likely to 
call them forth, than the sight of an insect inhabitant of 
this great ant-hill, assuming airs of superiority over his 
brother emmet, because he has a few more grains of bar- 

15 ley in his granary, or some other equally cogent reason. 



LESSON LXI. SAME SUBJECT CONCLUDED. ID. 

Of the gentlemen, young and old, whiskered and un- 
whiskered, that may be seen in Washington street any 
sunshiny day, there is not one who does not think himself 
a polite man, and who would not very much resent any 
5 insinuation to the contrary. Their opinion is grounded 
on reasons something like the following. When they go 
to a party, they make a low bow to the mistress of the 
house, and then look round after somebody that is young 
and pretty to make themselves agreeable to. 

10 At a ball, they will do their utmost to entertain their 
partner, unless the fates have given them to some one 
who is ugly and awkward ; and they will listen to her re- 
marks with their most bland expression. If they are invited 
to a dinner party, they go in their best coats, praise their 

15 entertainer's wine, and tell the lady they hope her chil- 
dren are all well. If they tread on the toes of a well- 
dressed person, they w^ill beg his pardon. They never 
spit on a carpet ; and, in walking with a lady, they always 
give her the inside ; and, if the practice be allowable, they 

20 offer her their arm. 

So far, very good ; but I must always see a man in 
certain situations, before I decide whether he be polite or 
not. I should like to see how he would act, if placed at 
dinner between an ancient maiden lady, and a country 

25 clergyman with a small salary and a rusty coat, and with 



168 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



some distinguished person opposite to him. I want to see 
him on a hot and dusty day, sitting on the back seat of a 
stage-coach, when the driver takes in some poor lone wo- 
man, with may be a child in her arms, and tells the gen- 
5 tlemen, that one of them must ride outside and make room 
for her. 

I want to be near him, when his washer-woman makes 
some very good excuse to him for not bringing home his 
clothes at the usual time, or not doing up an article in 

10 exactly the style he wished. I want to hear the tone and 
emphasis with which he gives orders to servants in steam- 
boats and taverns. I mark his conduct, when he is walk- 
ing with an umbrella, on a rainy day, and overtakes an 
old man, or an invalid, or a decent looking woman, who 

15 are exposed, without protection, to the violence of the 
storm. If he be in company wdth those whom he thinks 
his inferiors, I listen to hear, if his conversation be entirely 
about himself. If some of the number be very distin- 
guished, and some quite unknown, I observe whether he 

20 acts, as if he were utterly unconscious of the presence of 
these last. 

These are a few, and but a few, of the tests by which I 
try a man ; and I am sorry to say, there are very few, who 
can stand them all. There is many a one who passes in 

25 the world for a well-bred man, because he knows when to 
bow and smile, that is down in my tablets for a selfish, 
vulgar, unpolite monster, that loves the parings of his own 
nails better than his neighbor's whole body. Put any 
man in a situation, where he is called upon to make a sa- 

80 crifice of his own comfort and ease, without any equiva- 
lent in return, and you will learn the difference between 
true politeness, that sterling ore of the heart, and the 
counterfeit imitation of it, which passes current in draw- 
ing-rooms. Any man must be an idiot, not to be polite in 

35 society, so called; for how else would he get his oysters 
and Champagne ? 



LESSON LXII. COTTAGE ON THE SWISS ALPS. BUCKMINSTER. 

In one of the highest regions of the Swiss Alps, after a 
day of excessive labor, i^ reaching the summit of our 
journey, near those thrones erected ages ago for the majes- 
ty of Nature, we stopped, fatigued and dispirited, on a spot 
destined to eternal barrenness, where we found one of 



PART II.] • READER AND SPEAKER. 169 

these rude but hospitable inns open to receive us. There 
was not another human habitation, within many miles. 
All the soil, which we could see, had been brought thither, 
and placed carefully round the cottage, to nourish a few 
5 cabbages and lettuces. There were some goats, which 
supplied the cottagers with milk ; a few fowls lived in the 
house ; and the greatest luxuries of the place were new- 
made cheeses, and some wild alpine mutton, the rare pro- 
vision of the traveller. Yet here Nature had thrown ofT 

10 the veil, and appeared in all her sublimity. Summits of 
bare granite rose all around us. The snow-clad tops of the 
distant Alps, seemed to chill the moon-beams that lighted 
on them ; and we felt all the charms of the picturesque, 
mingled with the awe inspired by unchangeable grandeur. 

15 We seemed to have reached the original elevations of the 

globe, o'ertopping forever the tumults, the vices, and the |: 

miseries of ordinary existence, far out of hearing of the 
murmurs of a busy world, which discord ravages, and 
luxury corrupts. We asked for the album, and a large 

20 folio was brought to us, almost filled with the scrav/ls of 
every nation on earth that could write. Instantly our 
fatigue was forgotten ; and the evening passed away pleas- 
antly in the entertainment which this book afforded us. 



LESSON LXIII. — PETER STUYVESANT. WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and, like the renowned 
Wouter Van Twiller, he was also the best, of our ancient 
Dutch governors : Wouter having surpassed all who pre- 
ceded him, and Peter having never been equalled by any 
5 successor. 

To say merely that he was a hero, would be doing him 
great injustice ; — he was in truth a combination of heroes ; 
— for he was of a sturdy, raw-bone make, like Ajax Tela- 
mon, with a pair of round shoulders that Hercules would 
10 have given his hide for, (meaning his lion's hide,) when he 
undertook to ease old Atlas of his load. He was, more- 
over, as Plutarch describes Coriolanus, not only terrible 
for the force of his arm, but likewise of his voice, which 
sounded as though it came out of a barrel ; and like the 
15 selfsame warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for 
the sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was enough 
of itself to make the very bowels of his adversaries quake 
with terror and dismay.* 
15 * 



J^O AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET H. 

All this martial excellency was inexpressibly height- 
ened by an accidental advantage, with which 1 am sur- 
prised that neither Homer nor Virgil have graced any of 
their heroes. This was nothing less than a wooden leg, 
5 which was the only prize he had gained, in bravely fight- 
ing the battles of his country, but of which he was so 
proud, that he was often heard to declare, he valued it 
more, than all his other limbs put together ; indeed, so 
highly did he esteem it, that he had it gallantly enchased 

10 and relieved with silver devices, which caused it to be 
related in divers histories and legends, that he wore a 
silver leg. 

Like that choleric warrior, Achilles, he was somewhat 
subject to extempore bursts of passion, which were ofttimes 

15 rather unpleasant to his favorites and attendants, whose 
perceptions he was apt to quicken, after the manner of his 
illustrious imitator, Peter the Great, by anointing their 
shoulders with his walking-staff. 

He was, in fact, the very reverse of his predecessors, 

20 being neither tranquil and inert, like Walter, the Doubter, 
nor restless and fidgeting, like William, the Testy ; but 
a man, or rather a governor, of such uncommon activity 
and decision of mind, that he never sought or accepted the 
advice of others ; depending confidently upon his single 

25 head, as did the heroes of yore upon their single arms, to 
work his way through all difficulties and dangers. To 
tell the simple truth, he wanted no other requisite for a 
perfect statesman, than to think always right, for no one can 
deny, that he always acted as he thought ; and if he wanted 

30 in correctness, he made up for it in perseverance, — an 
excellent quality ! since it is surely more dignified for a 
ruler to be persevering and consistent in error, than wa- 
vering and contradictory, in endeavoring to do what is 
right. This much is certain, and it is a maxim worthy 

35 the attention of all legislators, both great and small, who 
stand shaking in the wind, without knowing which way 
to steer, — a ruler who acts according to his own will, is 
sure of pleasing himself, while he who seeks to satisfy 
the wishes and whims of others, runs a great risk of 

40 pleasing nobody. The clock that stands still, and points 
steadfastly in one direction, is certain of being right twice 
in the four-and-twenty hours, — while others may keep 
going continually, and continually be going wrong. 

Nor did this magnanimous virtue escape the discern- 



PAKT IL] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



171 



10 



ment of the good people of Nieuw-Nederlandts ;^ on the 
contrary, so high an opinion had they of the independent 
mind and vigorous intellect of their new governor, that 
they universally called him Hardkopping Piet,f or Peter the 
Headstrong, — a great compliment to his understanding ! 

If from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy 
reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, 
weatherbeaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leathern -sided, lion- 
hearted, generous-spirited old governor, either I have writ- 
ten to but little purpose, or thou art very dull at drawing 
conclusions. 



LESSON LXIV. ODE ON ART. CHARLES SPRAGTJE. 

When, from the sacred garden driven, 

Man fled before his Maker's wrath, 
An angel left her place in heaven. 

And crossed the wanderer's sunless path. 
5 *T was Art I sweet Art ! new radiance broke 

Where her light foot flew o'er the ground ; 
And thus with seraph voice she spoke, — 

" The Curse a Blessing shall be found." 

She led him through the trackless wild, 
10 Where noontide sunbeam never blazed ; 

The thistle shrunk, the harvest smiled. 
And Nature gladdened, as she gazed. 
Earth's thousand tribes of living things, 
At Art's command, to him are given ; 
15 The village grows, the city springs. 

And point their spires of faith to heaven. 

He rends the oak, — and bids it ride, 
To guard the shores its beauty graced ; 

He smites the rock, — upheaved in pride, 
20 See towers of strength and domes of taste. 

Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal, 
Fire bears his banner on the wave. 

He bids the mortal poison heal. 

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. 

25 He plucks the pearls that stud the deep, 

Admiring Beauty's lap to fill; 
He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep, 
And mocks his own Creator's skill. 



Pronounced New Nayderldnts. 



t Pronounced Feet. 



172 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



10 



With thoughts that swell his glowing soul, 
He bids the ore illume the page, 

And proudly scorning Time's control, 
Commerces with an unborn age. 

In fields of air he writes his name, 

And treads the chambers of the sky ; 
He reads the stars, and grasps the flame 

That quivers round the Throne on high. 
In war renowned, in peace sublime. 

He moves in greatness and in grace ; 
His power, subduing space and time. 

Links realm to realm, and race to race. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



LESSON LXV. ROBERT BURNS. F. G. HALLECK. 

The memory of Burns, — a name 

That calls, when brimmed her festal cup, 

A nation's glory, and her shame, 
In silent sadness up. 

A nation's glory, — ^be the rest 

Forgot, — she 's canonized his mind ; 

And it is joy to speak the best 
We may of human kind. 

I 've stood beside the cottage bed 

Where the Bard-peasant first drew breath ; 
A straw-thatched roof above his head, 

A straw-wrought couch beneath. 

And I have stood beside the pile, 
His monument, — that tells to heaven 

The homage of earth's proudest isle 
To that Bard-peasant given ! 

Bid thy thoughts hover o'er that spot, 
Boy-Minstrel, in thy dreaming hour ; 

And know, however low his lot, 
A Poet's pride and power. 

The pride that lifted Burns from earth, 
The power that gave a child of song 

Ascendancy o'er rank and birth, 
The rich, the brave, the strong ; 

And if despondency weigh down 
Thy spirit's fluttering pinions then, 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



173 



Despair : — thy name is written on 
The roll of common men. 

There have been loftier themes than his, 
And longer scrolls, and louder lyres, 
5 And lays lit up with Poesy's 

Purer and holier fires : 

Yet read the names that know not death ; 
Few nobler ones than Burns are there ; 
And few have won a greener wreath 
10 Than that which binds his hair. 

His is that language of the heart, 

In which the answering heart would speak, 

Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, 
Or the smile light the cheek ; 

15 And his that music, to whose tone 

The common pulse of man keeps time. 
In cot or castle's mirth or moan, 
In cold or sunny clime. 

And who hath heard his song, nor kneH 
20 Before its spell, with willing knee, 

And listen'd, and believed, and felt 
The Poet's mastery ? 

O'er the mind's sea, in calni and storm, 
O'er the heart's sunshine and its showers, 
25 O'er Passion's moments, bright and warm, 

O'er Reason's dark, cold hours ; 

On fields where brave men " die or do," 

In halls where rings the banquet's mirth, 
Where mourners weep, where lovers woo, 
30 From throne to cottage hearth ; 

What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed. 
What wild vows falter on the tongue, 

When " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," 
Or " Auld Lang Syne" is sung ! 

35 Pure hopes, that lift the soul above. 

Come with his Cottar's hymn of praise. 
And dreams of youth, and truth, and love. 
With " Logan's " banks and braes. 

And when he breathes his master-lay 
40 Of Alloway's witch-haunted wall, 

15=^ 



174 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part it 



10 



All passions in our frames of clay 
Come thronging at his call. 

Imagination's world of air, 

And our own world, its gloom and glee, 
"Wit, pathos, poetry, are there, 

And death's sublimity. 

And Burns, — though brief the race he ran, 
Though rough and dark the path he trod,- 

Lived,— died, — in form and soul a Man, 
The image of his God. 



LESSON LXVL THE FUTURE LIFE. W. C. BRYANT. 

Lines addressed to a deceased friend. 

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 

The disembodied spirits of the dead, 
When all of thee that time could wither, sleeps. 

And perishes among the dust we tread ? 

5 For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain, 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not ; 
Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there ? 
10 That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given ? 
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 

Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven ? 

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, 
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 
15 And larger movements of the unfettered mind, 
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ? 

The love that lived through all the stormy past, 

And meekly with my harsher nature bore, 
And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, 
20 Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? 

A happier lot than mine, and larger light. 

Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will 

In cheerful homage to the rule of right. 
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 

25 For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, 

Shrink and consume the heart, as heat the scroll ; 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



i7£? 



10 



And wrath hath left its scar, — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 

Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye. 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same ? 

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this, — 

The wisdom which is love, — till I become 
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ? 



LESSON LXVII. THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

There is a quiet spirit in these woods, 

That dwells where'er the south wind blows ; 

Where, underneath the white thorn in the glade, 

The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, 

The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. 

With what a tender and empassion'd voice 

It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, 

When the fast-ushering star of morning comes, 

O'er-riding the gra}^ hills with golden scarf; 

Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve, 

In mourning weeds, from out the western gate. 

Departs with silent pace ! That spirit moves 

In the green valley, where the silver brook. 

From its full laver, pours the white cascade ; 

And, babbling low amid the tangled woods. 

Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. 

And frequent, on the everlasting hills, 

Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself 

In all the dark embroidery of the storm. 

And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid 

The silent majesty of these deep woods, 

Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, 

As to the sunshine, and the pure bright air, 

Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards 

Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. 

For them there was an eloquent voice in all 

The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun. 

The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, 

Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds j 

The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun 



176 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part u. 



k. 




11 




1 J 




i ''^ 




1 ''9 




I -'! 


'.'' ■■ 




L. . 



Aslant the wooded slope at evening goes ; 
Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in ; 
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, 
The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, 
5 In many a lazy syllable, repeating 
Their old poetical legends to the wind. 

And this is the sweet spirit that doth fill 

The world ; and, in these wayward days of youth. 

My busy fancy oft embodies it, 
10 As the bright image of the light and beauty 

That dwell in nature, of the heavenly forms 

We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues 

That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds 

When the sun sets. Within her eye 
15 The heaven of April, with its changing light. 

And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, 

And on her lip the rich red rose. Her hair 

Is like the summer tresses of the trees, 

When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek 
20 Blushes the richness of an autumn sky. 

With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath. 

It is so like the gentle air of Spring, 

As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes 

Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy 
25 To have it round us, and her silver voice 

Is the rich music of a summer bird, 

Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. 






10 



LESSON LXVIII. THE SOLDIER's WIDOW. ^N. P. WILLIS. 

Woe ! for my vine-clad home ! 
That it should ever be so dark to me, 
With its bright threshold, and its whispering tree ! 

That I should ever come. 
Fearing the lonely echo of a tread, 
Beneath the roof-tree of my glorious dead I 

Lead on ! my orphan boy ! 
Thy home is not so desolate to thee, 
And the low shiver in the linden tree 

May bring to thee a joy ; 
But, oh ! how dark is the bright home before thee, 
To her who with a joyous spirit bore thee ! 



ii 



PAET II.3 EEADER AND SPEAKER. 177 

Lead on ! for thou art now 
My sole remaining helper, God hath spoken. 
And the strong heart I leaned upon is broken; 

And I have seen his brow, 
5 The forehead of my upright one, and just, 
Trod by the hoof of battle to the dust. 

He will not meet thee there 
H Who blessed thee at the eventide, my son 1 

^ And when the shadows of the night steal on, 

iO He will not call to prayer. 

The lips that melted, giving thee to God, 
Are in the icy keeping of the sod i 

Ay, my own boy ! thy sire 
Is with the sleepers of the valley cast, 
15 And. the proud glory of my life hath past. 

With his high glance of fire. 
Woe I that the linden and the vine should bloom, 
And a just man be gathered to the tomb I 



LESSON LXIX. THE SICILIAN VESPERS.— -J. G. WHITTIER, 

Silence o'er sea and earth 

With the veil of evening fell, 
Till the convent tower sent deeply forth 

The chime of its vesper-belL"^ 
5 One moment, and that solemn soiind 

Fell heavily on the ear ; 
But a sterner echo passed around, 

Which the boldest shook to hear. 

The startled monks thronged up, 
10 In the torchlight cold and dim ; 

And the priest let fall his incense cup, 

And the virgin hushed her hymn ; 
For a boding clash, and a clanging tramp, 
And a summoning voice were heard, 
15 And fretted wall, and tombstone damp, 
To the fearful echo stirred. 

The peasant heard the sound, 
As he sat beside his hearth ; 
And the song and the dance were hushed around, 
20 With the fireside tale of mirth. 

* The signal adopted by the Sicilians, for commencing the massacre 
of their French conquerors. 



178 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[PAET IX. 



The chieftain shook in his bannered hall, 
As the sound of war drew nigh ; 

And the warder shrank from the castle wall^ 
As the gleam of spears went by. 

5 Woe, woe, to the stranger then. 

At the feast and flow of wine. 

In the red array of mailed men, 

Or bowed at the holy shrine ! 

For the wakened pride of an injured land 

10 Had bn^t its iron thrall ; 

From the plumed chief to the pilgrim band j 
Woe, woe, to the sons of Gaul ! 

Proud beings fell that hour, 

With the young and passing fair ; 
15 And the flame went up from dome and towe? 
The avenger's arm was there I 
The stranger priest at the altar stood. 

And clasped his beads in prayer, 
But the holy shrine grew dim with blood, — 
20 The avenger found him there I 

Woe, woe, to the sons of Gaul, 

To the serf and mailed lord ! 
They were gathered darkly, one and all. 

To the harvest of the SAvord ; 
25 And the morning sun, with a quiet smile. 

Shone out o'er hill and glen. 
On ruined temple and mouldering pile. 

And the ghastly forms of men. 

Ay, the sunshine sweetly smiled, 
30 As its early glance came forth : 

It had no sympathy with the wild 

And terrible things of earth ; 
And the man of blood that day might read,. 
In a language freely given, 
35 How ill his dark and midnight deed 
Became the light of heaven. 



LESSON LXX. MEXICAN MYTHOLOGY. WM. H. PRESCOTT. 

The Aztecs, or ancient Mexic-ans, had no adequate con- 
ception of the true God. The idea of unity, — of a being, 
with whom volition is action, who has no need of inferioi 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. Wf9 

ministers to execute his purposes, — was too simple, or too 
vast, for their understandings ; and they sought relief, as 
usual, in a plurality of deities, who presided over the ele- 
ments, the changes of the seasons, and the various occu- 
5 pations of man. Of these, there were thirteen principal 
deities, and more than two hundred inferior ; to each of 
whom some special day, or appropriate festival, was con- 
secrated. 

At the head of all stood the terrible Mexican Mars ;^ 

10 although it is doing injustice to the heroic war-god of an- 
tiquity, to identify him with this sanguinary monster. 
This was the patron deity of the nation. His fantastic 
image was loaded with costly ornaments. His temples 
were the most stately and august of the public edifices ; 

15 and his altars reeked with the blood of human hecatombs, 
in every city of the empire. Disastrous, indeed, must 
have been the influence of such a superstition on the 
character of the people. 

A far more interesting personage in their mythology 

20 was the godt of the air, a divinity who, during his resi- 
dence on earth, instructed the natives in the use of metals, 
in agriculture, and in the arts of government. He was 
one of those benefactors of their species, doubtless, who 
have been deified by the gratitude of posterity. Under 

25 him, the earth teemed with fruits and flowers, without the 
pains of culture. An ear of Indian corn was as much as 
a single man could carry. The cotton, as it grew, took, 
of its own accord, the rich dyes of human art. The air 
was filled with intoxicating perfumes, and the sweet 

30 melody of birds. In short, these were the halcyon days, 
which find a place in the mythic systems of so many na- 
tions of the Old World. It was the golden age of 
Anahuac. 

From some cause, not explained, this god incurred the 

-35 wrath of one of the principal gods, and was compelled to 
abandon the country. On his way, he stopped at the city 
of Cholula, where a temple was dedicated to his worship, 
the massy ruins of which still form one of the most inter- 
esting relics of antiquity in Mexico. When he reached 

40 the shores of the Mexican Gulf, he took leave of his fol- 
lowers, promising, that he and his descendants would re- 
visit them hereafter, and then, entering his wizard skiiF, 

* Huitzilopotchli. | Quetzalcoatl. 









180 



AMERICAK COMMON-SCHOOL 



[PAET a. 



made of serpents' skins, embarked on the great ocean for 
the fabled land of Tlapallan. He was said to have been 
tall in stature, with a white skin, long, dark hair, and a 
flowing beard. The Mexicans looked confidently to the 
return of the benevolent deity ; and this remarkable tra- 
dition, deeply cherished in their hearts, prepared the way 
for the future success of the Spaniards. 



LESSON LXXI. ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 

SAMUEL G. HOWE. 



; the I 



It is not an unprofitable question to ask, what was 
origin and progress of language ? And the answer must 
be, that it is the gradual work of the human race, carried 
on through long ages, and not yet finished and perfected. 
5 There is no good reason to suppose, that God made any 
departure, in the case of langTtage, from that course by 
which He governs the universe, and which we call the 
laws of nature ; He never gives us anything outright ; He 
endows us with capacities, powers, and desires, and then 

10 placing certain desirable objects before us, bids us work to 
obtain them. 

To say, as some divines do, that it would have been 
impossible for man to commence and perfect language, is 
to say, that God could not have endowed him with capaci- 

15 ties for doing so. 

God has so endowed the human race ; He has given 
them both the desire and capacity of forming language : 
the result of their neglecting these capacities would have 
been, and is still, in some cases, that they tarry long in a 

20 state of barbarism; the result of their exercising and im- 
proving them in other cases, has been advancement in 
every thing which improves and elevates humanity. 

If it be said, we are positively told, in the second chap- 
ter of Genesis, that, in the very beginning, Adam used 

25 language, and named the beasts of the field, I answer, we 
must consider the second chapter metaphorical, as we do 
the first, where we are told that light, and day and night, 
were established on the first day, while the sun and moon 
were not brought into existence until the fourth day ; or, 
if people will insist on rendering some parts literally and 
others metaphorically, just as suits them, then I say the 
first language was probably very imperfect and merely 
elementary ; and that one may prove, even from Scripture, 



30 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 181 

that man was obliged to work for his language, as he is 
obliged to work for every other good thing. 

The confusion of tongues must have amounted virtually 
to annihilation of speech ; the sounds which each uttered, 
5 were incomprehensible jargon to all the others ; each 
knew what he would say, but could make no other under- 
stand him ; they probably shouted, as we do to deaf peo- 
ple, thinking to be better understood, but this only made 
the others stop their ears, until at last, losing all patience, 

10 they scattered in small groups, or in pairs. After this, 
the process of building up language must have been simi- 
lar to that which we see infants and children going 
through every day. 

Suppose two or more to have separated from the rest ; 

15 they would cling together ; they would, at first, by rude 
sounds and gestures, begin to form a system of signs, by 
which they could understand each other ; one, looking to 
a fruit, would utter a sound once, perhaps twice, and the 
next time the sound was repeated, it would recall the 

20 thought of the fruit, and become its name to those two ; 
but to other two it would have no meaning, for they had 
perhaps in the mean time fixed upon some other sound, as 
the sign for the fruit. One, feeling a pain, or a desire, 
thirst for instance, would utter a certain sound ; this re- 

25 peated, would become the sign of that feeling. 

After establishing signs for ail manner of external 
things, by gradual and easy analogy, they would go on 
to mental emotions ; they would establish signs for time 
past, time present, time to come ; all these at first would 

30 have to be made clear by the expression of the features, 
by gestures, &;c. ; but gradually these gestures would be 
dropped, as the conventional meaning of the sounds be- 
came established, until at last a purely arbitrary sign, — a 
vocal sound, — a word, — would recall the thought of the 

35 object. 

LESSON LXXII. ZENOBIA's AMBITION. WILLIABI WARE. 

I am charged with pride and ambition. The charge is 
true, and I glory in its truth. Who ever achieved any 
thing great in letters, arts, or arms, who was not ambi- 
tious ? Csesar was not more ambitious than Cicero. It 
5 was but in another way. All greatness is born of ambi- 
tion. Let the ambition be a noble one, and who shall 
blame it? I confess I did once aspire to be queen, not 
16 



1^ 



JMERICAI? COMMOK-S€HOOL 



[part n. 



only af Palmyra, bxit of the East. That I am. I now 
aspire to remain so. Is it not an honorable ambition ? 
Does it not become a descendant of the Ptolemies and of 
Cleopatra ? I am applauded by yon all for what I have 
5 already done. You would not it should have been less.. 
But why pause here ? Is so much ambition praisewor- 
thy, and more criminal ? Is it fixed in nature that the 
limits of this empire should be Egypt, on the one hand, 
the Hellespont and the Euxine, on the other ? Were not 
"^ 10 Suez and Armenia more natural limits ? Or hath empire 
no natural limit, but is broad as the genius that can de- 
vise, and the power that can win. Rome has the West. 
Let Palmyra possess the East. Not that nature prescribes 
this and no more. The gods prospering, and I swear not 

15 that the Mediterranean shall hem me in upon the west, or 
Persia on the east. Longinus is right, — I would that the 
world were mine. I feel, within, the will and the power 
to bless it, were it so. 

Are not my people happy ? I look upon the past and 

20 the present, upon my nearer and remoter subjects^ and 

. ask nor fear the answer. Whom have I wronged ? — what 

province have I oppressed ? — what city pillaged ? — what 

region drained with taxes ? — whose life have I unjustly 

taken, or estates coveted or robbed ? — whose honor have I 

25 wantonly assailed ? — whose rights, though of the weakest 
and poorest, have I trenched upon ? — I dwell, where I 
would ever dwell, in the hearts of my people. It is writ- 
ten in your faces, that I reign not more over you than 
within you. The foundation of my throne is not more 

30 power, than love. 

Suppose now, my ambition add another province to our 
realm. Is it an evil? The kingdoms already bound to 
us by the joint acts of ourself and the late royal Odenatus, 
we found discordant and at war. They are now united 

35 and at peace. One harmonious whole has grown out of 
hostile and sundered parts. At my hands they receive a 
common justice and equal benefits. The channels of their 
commerce have I opened, and dug them deep and sure. 
Prosperity and plenty are in all their borders. The streets 

40 of our capital bear testimony to the distant and various 
industry which here seeks its market. 

This is no vain boasting : — receive it not so, good friends. 
It is but truth. He who traduces himself, sins with him 
who traduces another. He who is unjust to himself, or 



liiii 



FART n.] 



•HEADER AND SPEAKER, 



183 



less than just, breaks a law, as well as he who hurts his 
neighbor. I tell you what I am, and what I have done, 
that your trust for the future may not rest upon ignorant 
grounds. If I am more than just to myself, rebuke me. 
<§ If 1 have overstepped the modesty that became me, I am 
open to your censure, and will bear it 

But I have spoken, that you may know your queen, — 
not only by her acts, but by her admitted principles. I 
tell you then that I am ambitious, — that I crave dom.inion, 
10 and while I live will reign. Sprung from a line of kings, 
a throne is my natural seat. I love it But I strive, too, 
— you can bear me witness that I do, — that it shall be, 
while I sit upon it, an honored, unpolluted seat If I can, 
I will hang a yet brighter glory around it. 



I.ESS0N LXXm. — ^TRIALS OF THE POET AND THE SCHOLAR.— 
GEO. S. HILLARD. 

In a highly civilized age, the poet finds himself per- 
plexed with contradictions which he cannot reconcile, and. 
anomalies which he cannot comprehend. Coming out 
from the soft ideal world, in which he has dreamed away 
5 his youth, he is constantly repelled by some iron reality. 
The aspect of life to him seems cold, hard and prosaic. 
It renews the legend of CEdipus and the Sphinx. With 
a face of stone, it propounds to him u riddle, which he 
must guess or be devoured. It is an age of frightful ex- 

10 tremes of social condition ; of colossal wealth and heart- 
crushing poverty ; of courts and custom-houses ; of corn- 
laws and game-laws ; of man-traps and spring-guns. 

The smoke from the almshouse and the jail, blots the 
pure sky. The race of life is not to the swift, nor its bat- 

15 tie to the strong. A sensitive conscience, a delicate taste, 
the gift of genius, and the ornament of learning, are rather 
obstacles, than helps, in the way of what is called success. 
Men are turned into petrifactions by the slow-dropping in- 
fluences of artificial life. The heroic virtues of the elder 

20 age, have vanished with its free speech, and its simple man- 
ners. There seems to be no pulse of hearty life in any 
thing, whether it be good or bad. Virtue is timid, and 
vice is cunning. Love is cold and calculating, and hatred 
masks its dagger with a smile, 

25 In this world of hollow forms and gilded seeming, the 
claims of the poet are unheeded, and his voice unheard. 



184 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[PAKT n* 



The gifts which he proffers, are \in\'alued by those who 
have forgotten the dreams of their yonth, and wandered 
away from the primal light of their being. He looks 
around him ; and the mournful fact presses itself upon his 
5 conviction, that there is no cover laid for him at Nature's 
table. His very existence seems to him a mistake. And 
now begins that fiery struggle in which the temper of his 
genius is to be tried, and which moves the deepest springs 
of compassion and sympathy, in the human heart. 

10 Poetry has invented nothing more pathetic, history has 
recorded nothing more sad, than those mournful experi- 
ences which are so often the lot of the scholar and the 
man of geniust The dethronement of kings, and the beg- 
gary of nobles, are less affecting than the wrongs, the sor- 

15 rows, the long-protracted trials, the forlorn conditions of 
great and gifted minds ; nobles, whose patents are of elder 
date than the pyramids, and kings by the anointment of 
God's own hand. 

What tragedies can be read, in the history of literature, 

20 deeper than Macbeth, more moving than Lear ? Milton, 
old, poor, and blind, selling Paradise Lost for five pounds ; 
Dryden beaten by ruffians at the prompting of a worthless 
peer, who, in Plato's commonwealth, would have been 
changing the poet's plate ; Tasso, a creature as delicately 

25 moulded as if, like the Peris, he had fed upon nothing 
grosser than the breath of flowers, wearing out the best 
years of his life in the gloom of a dungeon ; Racine hur- 
ried to his grave by the rebuke of a heartless king ; Chat- 
terton, at midnight, homeless and hungry, bathing the 

30 unpitying stones of London with the hot tears of anguish 
and despair ; Johnson, at the age of thirty-six, dining 
behind a screen at the house of Cave, because he was too 
shabbily dressed to appear at the table ; Bums taken from 
the plough, which he had " followed in glory and in joy 

35 upon the mountain side," to gauge ale-firkins, and watch 
for contraband tobacco. 



LESSON LXXIV. ^THE YANKEES. ^SAMUEL KETTEL. 

Yankee-land, or the New England portion of the United 
States, does not make a great figure in the map of the 
American Republic ; yet the traveller who leaves it out of 
his route, can tell you but little of what the Americans aie. 



PART 11.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



185 



It is in New England that you find Jonathan at home. 
In the other states, there is a mixture, greater or less, of 
foreign population ; but in New England the population 
is homogeneous and native, — the emigrant does not settle 
5 there, — the country is too full of people ; while the more 
fertile soil of the west holds out superior attractions to the 
stranger. It is no lubber-land ; there is no getting half-a- 
dollar a day for sleeping, in Massachusetts or Vermont ; 
the rocky soil and rough climate of this region, require 

10 thrift and industry in the occupant. In the west, he may 

scratch the ground, throw in the seed, and leave the rest 

to nature ; but here his toil must never be remitted ; and as 

valor comes of sherris, so doth prosperity come of mdustry. 

While the Yankees are themselves, they will hold their 

15 own, let politics twist about as they will. They are like 
cats, thro\y them up as you please, they will come down 
upon their feet. Shut their industry out from one career, 
and it will force itself into another. Dry up twenty 
sources of their prosperity, and they will open twenty 
more. They have a perseverance that will never languish, 
Avhile any thing remains to be tried ; they have a resolu- 
tion that will try any thing, if need be ; and when a Yan- 
kee says " I '11 try," the thing is done. 



20 



LESSON LXXV. — ^CUSTOM OF WHITE WASHING. - 
HOPKINSON."^ 



-FRANCIS 



My wish is to give you some account of the people of 
these new States ; but I am far from being qualified for 
the purpose, having as yet seen little more than the cities 
of New York and Philadelphia, I have discovered but 
5 few national singularities among them. Their customs 
and manners are nearly the same with those of England, 
which they have long been used to copy. For, previous 
to the revolution, the Americans were from their infancy 
taught to look up to the English, as patterns of perfection 
10 in all things. I have observed, however, one custom, 
which, for aught I know, is peculiar to this country : an 
account of it will serve to fill up the remainder of this 
sheet, and may afford you some amusement. 

When a young couple are about to enter the matrimo- 



* This piece has been incorrectly ascribed to the pen of Dr. Frank- 
lin. Hopkinson possessed much of that ease and humor, which have 
rendered the writings of the former so universally admired. 
16* 



186 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11. 

nial state, a never-failing article in the marriage treaty, is, 
that the lady shall have and enjoy the free and nninolested 
exercise of the rights of whitetvasking, with all its cere- 
monials, privileges^ and appurtenanceSr A young woman 
5 would forego the most advantageous connexion, and even 
disappoint the warmest wish of her heart, rather than re- 
sign the invaluable right. You would wonder what this 
privilege of whitewashiTig is : — I ^vill endeavor to give you 
some idea of the ceremony, as I have seen it performed. 

10 There is no season of the year, in which the lady may 
not claim her privilege, if she pleases ; but the latter end 
of May is most generally fixed upon for the purpose. 
The attentive husband may judge by certain prognostics 
when the storm is nigh at hand. When the lady is un- 

15 usually fretful, finds fault with the servants, is discon- 
tented with the children, and complains much of the filth- 
iness of every thing about her, — these are signs which 
ought not to be neglected ; yet they are not decisive, as 
they sometimes come on, and go off again, without produc- 

20 ing any further effect. But if, when the husband rises in 
the morning, he should observe in the yard a wheelbarrow 
with a quantity of lime in it, or should see certain buckets 
with lime dissolved in water, there is then no time to be 
lost ; he immediately locks up the apartment, or closet, 
•iji 25 where his papers or his private property are kept, and, 

\^: putting the key in his pocket, betakes himself io flight; 

for a husband, however beloved, becomes a perfect nui- 
sance during this season of female rage ; his authority is 
superseded, his commission is suspended ; and the very 

30 scullion, who cleans the brasses in the kitchen, becomes 
of more consideration and importance than he. He has 
nothing for it but to abdicate, and run from an evil which 
he can neither prevent nor mollify. 

The husband gone, the ceremony begins. The walls 

35 are in a few minutes stripped of their furniture ; paintings, 
prints, and looking-glasses, lie in a huddled heap, about 
the floors ; the curtains are torn from the testers, the beds 
crammed into the windows ; chairs and tables, bedsteads 
and cradles crowd the yard ; and the garden fence bends 

40 beneath the weight of carpets, blankets, cloth cloaks, old 
coats, and ragged breeches. Here may be seen the lum- 
ber of the kitchen, forming a dark and confused mass ; for 
the foreground of the picture, gridirons and frying-pans, 
rusty shovels and broken tongs, spits and pots, and the 



TAJIT U.] EEADER AND SPEAKER. 187 

fractured remains of rush-bottomed chairs. There, a 
closet has disgorged its bowels, cracked tumblers, broken 
wine-glasses, phials of forgotten physic, papers of un- 
known powders, seeds and dried herbs, handfuls of old 
5 corks, tops of teapots and stoppers of departed decanters ; 
—from the rag hole in the garret, to the rat hole in the 
cellar, no place escapes unrummaged. It would seem as 
if the day of general doom was come, and the utensils of 
the house were dragged forth to judgment. In this tem- 
10 pest, the words of Lear naturally present themselves, and 
might, with some alteration, be made strictly applicable : 

" Let the great gods, 

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, 
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, 
15 That hast within thee undivulged crimes 

Unwhipp'd of Justice ! 

Close pent-up Guilt, 

Raise your concealing continents, and ask 
These dreadful summoners grace !" 



LESSON LXXVI. SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. ID. 

This ceremony completed, and the house thoroughly 
evacuated, the next operation is to smear the walls and 
the ceilings of every room and closet, with brushes dipped 
in a solution of lime, called whiteivash ; to pour buckets 
5 of water over every floor, and scratch all the partitions 
and wainscots with rough brushes, wet with soap-suds, 
and dipped in stone-cutter's sand. The windows by no 
means escape the general deluge. A servant scrambles 
out upon the pent-house, at the risk of her neck, and, with 

10 a mug in her hand, and a bucket within reach, she dashes 

away innumerable gallons of water against the glass 

panes, to the great annoyance of passengers in the street. 

I have been told, that an action at law was once brought 

against one of these water-nymphs, by a person who had 

15 a new suit of clothes spoiled by this operation ; but, after 
a long argument, it was determined by the whole court, 
that the action would not lie, inasmuch as the defendant 
was in the exercise of a legal right, and not answerable for 
the consequences ; and so the poor gentleman was doubly 

20 nonsuited ; for he lost not only his suit of clothes but his 
suit at law. 

These smearings and scratchings, washings and dash- 
ings, being duly performed, the next ceremony is to 



1S8 ABIERICAN COMMON*SCHOOL [pART 



cleanse and replace the distracted furniture. You may 
have seen a house-raising, or a ship-launch, when all the 
hands within reach are collected together ; recollect, if 
you can, the hurry, bustle, confusion, and noise of such a 
5 scene, and you will have some idea of this cleaning match. 
The misfortune is, that the sole object is to make things 
clean ; it matters not how many useful, ornamental, or 
valuable articles are mutilated, or suffer death under the 
operation ; a mahogany chair and carved frame undergo 

10 the same discipline ; they are to be made clean, at all 
events ; but their preservation is not worthy of attention. 
For instance, a fine large engraving is laid flat upon the 
floor ; smaller prints are piled upon it, and the superincum- 
bent weight cracks the glasses of the lower tier ; but this 

15 is of no consequence. A valuable picture is placed lean- 
ing against the sharp corner of a table ; others are made 
to lean against that, until the pressure of the whole forces 
the corner of the table through the canvass of the first. 
The frame and glass of a fine print are to be cleaned ; 

20 the spirit and oil used on this occasion, are suffered to 
leak through, and spoil the engraving ; no matter, — if the 
glass is clean, and the frame shine, it is sufficient ; the 
rest is not worthy of consideration. An able mathema- 
tician has made an accurate calculation, founded on long 

25 experience, and has discovered that the losses and de- 
struction incident to two whitewashings, are equal to one 
removal, and three removals equal to one fire. 

The cleaning frolic over, matters begin to resume their 
pristine appearance. The storm abates, and all would be 

30 well again ; but it is impossible that so great a convulsion, 
in so small a community, should not produce some further 
effects. For two or three weeks after the operation, the 
family are usually afflicted with sore throats or sore eyes, 
occasioned by the caustic quality of the lime, or with se- 

35 vere colds, from the exhalations of wet floors or damp 
walls. 

LESSON LXXVII. SAME SUBJECT CONCLUDED. ID. 

I know a gentleman, who was fond of accounting for 

every thing in a philosophical way. He considers this, 

which I have called a custom, as a real periodical disease, 

peculiar to the climate. His train of reasoning is inge- 

5 nious and whimsical; but I am not at leisure to give you 



1 

ly f 



PAST II.] READER AND SPEAKER. W9 

the detail. The resuh was, that he found the distemper to 
be incurable ; but, after much study, he conceived he had 
discovered a method to divert the evil he could not sub- 
due. For this purpose, he caused a small building, about 
5 twelve feet square, to be erected in his garden, and fur- 
nished with some ordinary chairs and tables ; and a few 
prints, of the cheapest sort, were hung against the walls. 
His hope was, that, when the whitewashing frenzy seized 
the females of his family, they might repair to this apart- 

10 ment, and scrub and smear and scour to their hearts' con- 
tent ; and so spend the violence of the disease in this 
outpost, while he enjoyed himself in quiet at head-quar- 
ters. But the experiment did not answer his expectation : 
it was impossible it should, since a principal part of the 

15 gratification consists in the lady's having an uncontrolled 
right to torment her husband, at least once a year, and to 
turn him out of doors, and take the reins of government 
into her own hands. 

There is a much better contrivance than this of the 

20 philosopher, which is, to cover the walls of the house 
with paper; this is generally done ; and, though it cannot 
abolish, it at least shortens, the period of female dominion. 
The paper is decorated with flowers of various fancies, 
and made so ornamental, that the women have admitted 

25 the fashion without perceiving the design. 

There is also another alleviation of the husband's dis- 
tress : he generally has the privilege of a small room or 
closet for his books and papers, the key of which he is 
allowed to keep. This is considered as a privileged place, 

30 and stands like the land of Goshen amid the plagues of 
Egypt. But then he must be extremely cautious, and 
ever on his guard ; for should he inadvertently go abroad, 
and leave the key in his door, the housemaid, who is al- 
ways on the watch for such an opportunity, immediately 

35 enters in triumph, with buckets, brooms, and brushes ; takes 
possession of the premises, and forthwith puts all his books 
and papers to rights, — to his utter confusion, and some- 
times serious detriment. For instance : 

A gentleman was sued by the executors of a tradesman, 

40 on a charge found against him in the deceased's books, 
to the amount of thirty pounds. The defendant was 
strongly impressed with the idea, that he had discharged 
the debt, and taken a receipt ; but, as the transaction was 
of long standing, he knew not where to find the receipt. 



190 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 






III 



5 



The suit went on in course, and the time approached, 
when judgment would be obtained against him. He then 
sat seriously down to examine a large bundle of old pa- 
pers, which he had untied, and displayed on a table, for 
5 that purpose. In the midst of his search, he was sudden- 
ly called away on business of importance ; — he forgot to 
lock the door of his room. The housemaid, who had 
been long looking out for such an opportunity, immedi- 
ately entered with the usual implements, and, with great 

10 alacrity, fell to cleaning the room, and putting things to 
rights. The first object that struck her eye was the con- 
fused situation of the papers on the table ; these were 
without delay bundled together, as so many dirty knives 
and forks ; but in the action, a small piece of paper fell 

15 unnoticed on the floor, which happened to be the very re- 
ceipt in question ; as it had no very respectable appear- 
ance, it was soon after swept out with the common dirt of 
the room, and carried in the rubbish-pan into the yard. 
The tradesman had neglected to enter the credit in his 

20 book; the defendant could find nothing to obviate the 
charge, and so judgment went against him for the debt 
and costs. A fortnight after the whole was settled, and 
the money paid, one of the children found the receipt 
among the rubbish in the yard. 

25 There is another custom, peculiar to the city of Phila- 
delphia, and nearly allied to the former. I mean, that of 
washing the pavement before the doors, every Saturday 
evening. I, at first, took this to be a regulation of the 
police ; but, on further inquiry, find it is a religious rite, 

30 preparatory to the Sabbath ; and is, I believe, the only re- 
ligious rite, in which the numerous sectaries of this city 
perfectly agree. The ceremony begins about sunset, and 
continues till about ten or eleven at night. It is very dif- 
ficult for a stranger to walk the streets on those evenings ; 

35 he runs a continual risk of having a bucket of dirty water 
thrown against his legs ; but a Philadelphian born is so 
much accustomed to the danger, that he avoids it with 
surprising dexterity. It is from this circumstance that a 
Philadelphian may be known anywhere by his gait. The 

40 streets of New York are paved with rough stones ; these 
indeed are not washed ; but the dirt is so thoroughly swept 
from before the doors, that the stones stand up sharp and 
prominent, to the great inconvenience of those who are 
not accustomed to so rough a path. But habit reconciles 



PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 191 

every thing. It is diverting enough to see a Philadel- 
phian at New York ; he walks the streets with as much 
painful caution as if his toes were covered with corns, or 
his feet lamed with the gout ; while a New Yorker, as 
5 little approving the plain masonry of Philadelphia, shuf- 
fles along the pavement, like a parrot on a mahogany 
table. 

It must be acknowledged, that the ablutions I have 
mentioned, are attended with no small inconvenience ; but 

10 the women would not be induced, on any consideration, 
to resign their privilege. Notwithstanding this, I can 
give you the strongest assurances that the women of 
America make the most faithful Avives, and the most atten- 
tive mothers, in the world ; and I am sure you will join 

15 me in opinion, that, if a married man is made miserable 
only one week in a whole year, he will have no great 
cause to complain of the matrimonial bond. 



LESSON LXXVIII. THE FOKCE OF CURIOSITY. CHARLES 

S PRAGUE. 

How swells my theme ! how vain my power I find, 
To track the windings of the curious mind ! 
Let aught be hid, though useless, nothing boots, 
Straightway it must be pluck'd up by the roots. 

6 How oft we lay the volume down to ask 
Of him, the victim in the Iron Mask ; 
The crusted medal rub with painful care, 
To spell the legend out, — that is not there ; 
With dubious gaze o'er mossgrown tombstones bend 

10 To find a name — the herald never penned ; 
Dig through the lava-deluged city's breast. 
Learn all we can, and wisely guess the rest : 
Ancient or modern, sacred or profane. 
All must be known, and all obscure made plain ; 

15 If 't was a pippin tempted Eve to sin. 

If glorious Byron drugged his muse with gin ; 
If Troy e'er stood, if Shakspeare stole a deer, 
If Israel's missing tribes found refuge here ; 
If like a villain Captain Henry lied, 

20 If like a martyr Captain Morgan died. 
Its aim oft idle, lovely in its end, 
We turn to look, then linger to befriend ; 



192 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part o. 



The maid of Egypt thus was led to save 

A nation's future leader from the wave ; 

New things to hear when erst the Gentiles ran, 

Truth closed what Curiosity hegan. 
5 How many a noble art, now widely known, 

Owes its young impulse to this power alone ; 

Even in its slightest working we may trace 

A deed that changed the fortunes of a race ; 

Bruce, banned and hunted on his native soil, 
10 With curious eye surveyed a spider's toil ; 

Six times the little climber strove and failed ; 

Six times the chief before his foes had quailed ; 

" Once more," he cried, " in thine my doom I read, 

Once more I dare the fight if thou succeed ;" 
15 'T was done : the insect's fate he made his own : 

Once more the battle waged, and gained a throne. 
Behold the sick man in his easy chair ; 

Barred from the busy crowd and bracing air, 

How every passing trifle proves its power 
20 To while away the long, dull, lazy hour ! 

As down the pane the rival rain-drops chase, 

Curious he '11 watch to see which wins the race ; 

And let two dogs beneath his window fight. 

He '11 shut his Bible to enjoy the sight. 
25 So with each newborn nothing rolls the day, 

Till some kind neighbor stumbling in his way, 

Draws up his chair, the sufferer to amuse, 

And makes him happy, while he tells — The News. 
The News ! our morning, noon, and evening cry ; 
80 Day unto day repeats it till we die. 

For this the cit, the critic, and the fop. 

Dally the hour away in Tonsor's shop ; 

For this the gossip takes her daily route, 

And wears your threshold and your patience out ; 
35 For this we leave the parson in the lurch. 

And pause to prattle on the way to church ; 

Even when some coffined friend we gather round, 

We ask, " What news ?" — then lay him in the ground; 

To this the breakfast owes its sweetest zest, ^ 

40 For this the dinner cools, the bed remains unpressed. 



FART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. tS3 

LESSON LXXIX. — THE WINDS. — ^W. C. BRYANT. 

Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the air, 
Softly ye played a few brief hours ago ; 

Ye bore the murmuring bee ; ye tossed the hair 
O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow ; 
5 Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue ; 

Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew ; 

Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew, 

Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow. 

How are ye changed ! Ye take the cataract's sound ; 
10 Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might; 
The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground ; 
The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight. 
The clouds before you shoot like eagles past; 
The homes of men are rocking in your blast ; 
15 Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and cast, 

Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight. 

The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain, 

To scape your wrath ; ye seize and dash them dead. 
Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain ; 
20 The harvest field becomes a river's bed ; 
And torrents tumble from the hills around ; 
Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned ; 
And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound, 
Rise, as the rushing waters swell and spread. 

25 Ye dart upon the deep ; and straight is heard 

A wilder roar ; and men grow pale, and pray : 
Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird 

Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray. 
See ! to the breaking mast the sailor clings ; 
30 Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs. 

And take the mountain billow on your wings, 
And pile the wreck of navies round the bay. 

Why rage ye thus ? — no strife for liberty 

Has made you mad ; no tyrant, strong through fear, 
35 Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them free, 
And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere : 
For ye were born in freedom where ye blow ; 
Free o'er the mighty deep to come and go ; 
Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes af snow, 
40 Her isles where summer blossoms all the year. 
17 



I 



194 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 




10 



15 



20 



10 



O ye wild winds ! a mightier Power than yours 

In chains upon the shore of Europe lies ; 
The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures, 

Watch his mute throws with terror in their eyes ; 
And armed warriors all around him stand, 
And, as he struggles, tighten every band, 
And lift the heavy spear, with threatening hand. 
To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise. 

Yet oh ! when that wronged Spirit of our race. 

Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn chains, 
And leap in freedom from his prison-place. 

Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains. 
Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air. 
To waste the loveliness that time could spare. 
To fill the earth with woe, and blot her fair 

Unconscious breast with blood from human veins. 

But may he like the Spring-time come abroad, 

Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle might, 
When in the genial breeze, the breath of God, 

Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light ; 
Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet. 
The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet. 
And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost meet, 
Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient night. 



LESSON LXXX. DAYBREAK. RICHARD H. DANA, SEN. 

"The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window 
opened towards the sun rising : the name of the chamber was 
Peace ; where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and 
sang." — The Pilgrim'' s Progress. 

Now, brighter than the host that all night long. 

In fiery armor, up the heavens high 

Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning's song, 

Thou comest to tell me day again is nigh. 

Star of the dawning, cheerful is thine eye ; 

And yet in the broad day it must grow dim. 

Thou seem'st to look on me, as asking why 

My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim ; 

Thou bid'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in Him. 

"Canst thou grow sad," thou say'st, "as earth grows 

bright ? 
And sigh, when little birds begin discourse 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 195 

In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light 
Pours on their nests, as sprung from day's fresh source ! 
With creatures innocent thou must perforce 
A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure. 
5 And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse, 
Of ills and pains of life must be the cure, 
And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure." 

I feel its calm. But there 's a sombrous hue 

Along that eastern cloud of deep, dull red; 
10 Nor glitters yet the cold and heavy dew ; 

And all the woods and hilltops stand outspread 

With dusky lights, which warmth nor comfort shed. 

Still, — save the bird that scarcely lifts its song, — 

The vast world seems the tomb of all the dead, — 
15 The silent city emptied of its throng, 

And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong. 

But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth, 
Will quicken soon ; and hard, hot toil and strife, 
With headlong purpose, shake this sleeping earth 

20 With discord strange, and all that man calls life. 
With thousand scattered beauties nature 's rife. 
And airs, and woods, and streams breathe harmonies ; 
Man weds not these, but taketh art to wife ; 
Nor binds his heart with soft and kindly ties : 

25 He feverish, blinded, lives, and, feverish, sated, dies. 

And 't is because man useth so amiss 
Her dearest blessings, Nature seemeth sad ; 
Else why should she in such fresh hour as this 
Not lift the veil, in revelation glad, 
30 From her fair face ? It is that man is mad ! 
Then chide me not, clear star, that I repine 
When Nature grieves : nor deem this heart is bad. 
Thou look'st towards earth ; but yet the heavens are thine, 
While I to earth am bound : When will the heavens be 
mine ? 

35 If man would but his finer nature learn, 
And not in life fantastic lose the sense 
Of simpler things ; could Nature's features stern 
Teach him be thoughtful ; then, with soul intense, 
I should not vearn for God to take me hence, 



'Ijlji ^$6 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11. 

W - 

vi: But bear my lot, albeit in spirit bowed, 

|! r Remembering humbly why it is, and whence : 

1^1 - But when I see cold man, of reason proud, 

I My solitude is sad, — I 'm lonely in the crowd. 

5 But not for this alone, the silent tear 

Steals to mine eyes, while looking on the mom, 
Nor for this solemn hour : fresh life is near ; 
But all my joys ! they died when newly born. 
Thousands will wake to joy ; while I, forlorn, 
10 And, like the stricken deer, with sickly eye. 

Shall see them pass. Breathe calm, — my spirit's torn; 

Ye holy thoughts, lift up my soul on high ! 

Ye hopes of things unseen, the far-off world bring nigh ! 

i And when I grieve, oh ! rather let it be 

15 That I, whom Nature taught to sit with her 
On her proud mountains, by her rolling sea ; 
Who, when the winds are up, with mighty stir 
Of woods and waters, feel the quickening spur 
To my strong spirit ; who, as mine own child, 
20 Do love the flower, and in the ragged bur 
A beauty see ; that I this mother mild 
Should leave, and go with care, and passions fierce and 
wild ! 

How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft 

Shot 'thwart the earth ! In crown of living fire 
25 Up comes the Day ! As if they conscious quaffed 

The sunny flood, hill, forest, city, spire 

Laugh in the wakening light. Go, vain Desire ! 

The dusky lights have gone : go thou thy way ! 

And pining Discontent, like them, expire ! 
30 Be called my chamber, Peace, when ends the day; 

And let me with the dawn, like Pilgrim, sing and pray ! 



LESSON LXXXI. THE LIGHT OF HOME. MRS. S. J. HALE. 

My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair, 

And thy spirit will sigh to roam. 
And thou must go ; — but never when there. 

Forget the light of home. 

Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, 
It dazzles to lead astray : 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. , 197 

Like the meteor's flash 't will deepen the night, 
When thou treadest the lonely way. 

But the hearth of home has a constant flame, 
And pure as vestal fire ; 
6 'Twill burn, 'twill burn, forever the same, 
For nature feeds the pyre. 

The sea of ambition is tempest tost, 

And thy hopes may vanish like foam ; 
But when sails are shivered and rudder lost, 
10 Then look to the light of home. 

And there, like a star through the midnight cloud. 

Thou shalt see the beacon bright. 
For never, till shining on thy shroud, 

Can be quenched its holy light. 

15 The sun of fame 't will gild the name, 
But the heart ne'er felt its ray ; 
And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim, 
Are but beams of a wintry day. 

And how cold and dim those beams must be, 
20 Should life's wretched wanderer come ! 

But my boy, when the world is dark to thee, 
Then turn to the light of home. 



LESSON LXXXII. A PSALM OF LIFE. H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUN& MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
" Life is but an empty dream ! " 

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem, 

5 Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
" Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 
Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
10 Is our destined end or way ; 

But to act, that each to-morrow 
Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting; 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
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[part n. 



Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 
In the bivouac of Life, 
5 Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 
Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present ! 
10 Heart within, and God o'erhead' 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footsteps on the sands of time ; 

15 Footprints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
20 With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing. 
Learn to labor and to wait. 



10 



15 



LESSON LXXXin. TO THE CONDOR. — E. F. ELLET. 

Wondrous, majestic bird ! whose mighty wing 
Dwells not with puny warblers of the spring ; — 

Nor on earth's silent breast, — 
Powerful to soar in strength and pride on high, 
And sweep the azure bosom of the sky, — 

Chooses its place of rest. 

Proud nursling of the tempest, where repose 
Thy pinions at the daylight's fading close ? 

In what far clime of night 
Dost thou in silence, breathless and alone, — 
While round thee swells of life no kindred tone,- 

Suspend thy tireless flight ? 

The mountain's frozen peak is lone and bare; 
No foot of man hath ever rested there ; — 
Yet 't is thy sport to soar 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. IS9 

Far o'er its frowning summit ; — and the plain 
Would seek to win thy downward wing in vain, 
Or the green sea-beat shore. 

The limits of thy course no daring eye 
5 Has marked ;— thy glorious path of light on high 

Is trackless and unknown ; 
The gorgeous sun thy quenchless gaze may share ; 
Sole tenant of his boundless realm of air, 

Thou art, with him, alone. 

10 Imperial wanderer ! the storms that shake 

Earth's towers, and bid her rooted mountains quake, 

Are never felt by thee ! — 
Beyond the bolt, — beyond the lightning's gleam, 
Basking forever in the unclouded beam, — 

15 Thy home immensity ! 

And thus the soul, with upward flight like thine. 
May track the realms where heaven's own glories shine, 

And scorn the tempest's power ; — 
Yet meaner cares oppress its drooping wings ; 
20 Still to earth's joys the sky-born wanderer clings, — 

Those pageants of an hour ! 

LXXXIV. A CHILD CARRIED AWAY BY AN EAGLE. 

Professor Wilso?i. 

The great Golden Eagle, the pride and the pest of the 
parish, stooped down, and away with something in his 
talons. One single sudden female shriek, — and then shouts 
and outcries, as if a church spire had tumbled down on a 
5 congregation, at a sacrament ! " Hannah Lamond's bairn ! 
Hannah Lamond's bairn ! " was the loud fast-spreading 
cry. " The eagle 's ta'en aff Hannah Lamond's bairn ! " 
and many hundred feet were in another instant hurrying 
towards the mountain. Two miles, of hill, and dale, and 
10 copse, and shingle, and many intersecting brooks, lay be- 
tween ; but, in an incredibly short time, the foot of the 
mountain was alive with people. 

The eyrie was well known, and both old birds were 
visible on the rock-ledge. But who shall scale that dizzy 
15 cliff*, which Mark Steuart, the sailor, who had been at the 
storming of many a fort, attempted in vain ? All kept 
gazing, weeping, wringing of hands in vain, rooted to the 
ground, or running back and forwards, like so many ants 



200 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART 



1 



essaying their new wings in discomfiture. " What 's the 
use, — what 's the use, — o' ony puir human means ? "We 
have no power but in prayer ! " and many knelt down, — 
fathers and mothers thinking of their own babies, — as if 
5 they would force the deaf heavens to hear ! 

Hannah Lamond had all this while been sitting on a 
rock, with a face perfectly white, — and eyes like those of 
a mad person, fixed on the eyrie. Nobody had noticed 
her ; for strong as all sympathies with her had been at the 

10 swoop of the eagle, they were now SAvallowed up in the 
agony of eyesight. " Only last Sabbath was my sweet 
wee wean baptized, in the name o' the Father, and the 
Son, and the Holy Ghost ! " and, on uttering these words, 
she flew off through the brakes, and over the huge stones, 

15 up — up — up — faster than ever huntsman ran in to the 
death, — fearless as a goat playing among the precipices. 

No one doubted, no one could doubt, that she would 
soon be dashed to pieces. But have not people who walk 
in their sleep, obedient to the mysterious guidance of 

20 dreams, climbed the walls of old ruins, and found footing, 
even in decrepitude, along the edge of unguarded battle- 
ments, and do\Am dilapidated stair-cases, deep as draw- 
wells, or coal pits, and returned with open, fixed, and 
unseeing eyes, unharmed to their beds, at midnight ? It is 

25 all the work of the soul, to whom the body is a slave ; and 
shall not the agony of a mother's passion, — who sees her 
baby, whose warm mouth had just left her breast, hurried 
off by a demon to a hideous death, — bear her limbs aloft 
wherever there is dust to dust, till she reach that devour- 

30 ing den, and fiercer and more furious far, in the passion 
of love, than any bird of prey that ever bathed its beak in 
blood, throttle the fiends that with their heavy wings would 
fain flap her down the cliffs, and hold up her child, in de- 
liverance, before the eye of the all-seeing God ! 

35 No stop, — no stay, — she knew not that she drew her 
breath. Beneath her feet Providence fastened every loose 
stone, and to her hands strengthened every root. How 
was she ever to descend? That fear, then, but once crossed 
her heart, as up — up — up — to the little image made of her 

40 own flesh and blood. " The God who holds me now from 
perishing, — will not the same God save me, when my child 
is on my bosom ?" Down came the fierce rushing of the 
eagles' wings, — each savage bird dashing close to her head, 
so that she saw the yellow of their wrathful eyes. All at 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 20| 

once they quailed, and were cowed. Yelling, they flew 
off to the stump of an ash jutting out of the cliff, a thousand 
feet above the cataract; and the Christian mother falling 
across the eyrie, in the midst of bones and blood, clasping 
5 her child, — dead — dead — dead, — no doubt, — butunmangled 
and untorn, and swaddled up, just as it was, when she laid 
it down asleep, among the fresh hay, in a nook of the har- 
vest field. 

Oh ! what a pang of perfect blessedness transfixed her 

10 heart from that faint feeble cry : — " It lives — it lives — it 
lives ! " and baring her bosom, with loud laughter, and 
eyes dry as stones, she felt the lips of the unconscious inno- 
cent once more murmuring, at the fount of life and love ! 
" Thou great, and thou dreadful God ! whither hast thou 

15 brought me, — one of the most sinful of thy creatures ? Oh ! 
save my soul, lest it perish, even for thy own name's 
sake ! O Thou, who diedst to save sinners, have mercy 
upon me I " 

Cliffs, chasms, blocks of stone, and the skeletons of old 

20 trees, — far — far down, — and dwindled into specks, a thou- 
sand creatures of her own kind, stationary, or running to 
and fro ! Was that the sound of the waterfall, or the faint 
roar of voices ? Is that her native strath ? — and that tuft 
of trees, does it contain the hut in which stands the cradle 

25 of her child ? Never more shall it be rocked by her foot I 
Here must she die, — and when her breast is exhausted, 
her baby too ! And those horrid beaks, and eyes, and 
talons, and wings, will return ; and her child will be de- 
voured at last, even within the dead bosom that can protect 

30 it no longer. 

LESSON LXXXV. SAME SUBJECT CONCLUDED. ID. 

Where all this while was Mark Steuart, the sailor ? Half 
way up the cliffs. But his eye had got dim, and his head 
dizzy, and his heart sick ; — and he who had so often reefed 
the top-gallant sail, when at midnight the coming of the 
5 gale was heard afar, covered his face with his hands, and 
dared look no longer on the swimming heights. 

" And who will take care of my poor bed-ridden mother," 

thought Hannah, whose soul, through the exhaustion of 

SO many passions, could no more retain, in its grasp, that 

10 hope which it had clutched in despair. A voice whispered, 

" God ! " She looked around, expecting to see an angel ; — 



202 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET !I. 

but nothing moved, except a rotten branch, that, under its 
own weight, broke off from the crumbling rock. Her eye, 
— by some secret sympathy of her soul with the inanimate 
object, — watched its fall ; and it seemed to stop, not far 
5 off, on a small platform. 

Her child was bound within her bosom, — she remem- 
bered not how or when, — but it was safe ; — and scarcely 
daring to open her eyes, she slid down the shelving rocks, 
and found herself on a small piece of firm root-bound soil, 
) V 10 with the tops of bushes appearing below. With fingers 

suddenly strengthened into tjie power of iron, she swung 
herself down by brier, and broom, and heather, and dwarf- 
birch. There, a loosened stone leapt over a ledge ; and no 
sound was heard, so profound was its fall. There, the 

15 shingle rattled down the screes, and she hesitated not to 
follow. Her feet bounded against the huge stone that 
stopped them, but she felt no pain. Her body was callous 
as the cliff. 

Steep as the wall of a house, was now the side of the 

20 precipice. But it was matted with ivy centuries old, — long 
ago dead, and without a single green leaf, — but with thou- 
sands of arm-thick stems, petrified into the rock, and cover- 
ing it, as with a trellis. She bound her baby to her neck, 
and with hands and feet clung to that fearful ladder. 

25 Turning round her head and looking down, lo ! the whole 
population of the parish, — so great was the multitude, on 
their knees ! and, hush ! the voice of psalms ! a hymn 
breathing the spirit of one united prayer ! Sad and solemn 
was the strain, — but nothing dirge-like, — breathing not of 

30 death, but deliverance. Often had she sung that tune, per- 
haps the very words, but them she heard not, — in her own 
hut, she and her mother, — or in the kirk, along with all the 
congregation. An unseen hand seemed fastening her 
fingers to the ribs of ivy ; and, in sudden inspiration, believ- 

35 ing that her life was to be saved, she became almost as 

fearless, as if she had been changed into a winged creature. 

Again her feet touched stones and earth, — the psalm 

was hushed, — but a tremulous sobbing voice was close 

beside her, and lo ! a she-goat, with two little kids at her 

40 feet. " Wild heights," thought she, " do these creatures 
climb ; — but the dam will lead down her kid by the easiest 
paths, for oh ! even in the brute creatures, what is the holy 
power of a mother's love ! " and turning round her head, 
she kissed her sleeping baby, and for the first time she 

45 wept. 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



Overhead frowned the front of the precipice, never 
touched before by human hand or foot. No one had ever 
dreamt of scaling it ; and the golden eagles knew that well 
in their instinct, as, before they built their eyrie, they had 
5 brushed it with their wings. But all the rest of this part 
of the mountain-side, though scarred, and seamed, and 
chasmed, was yet accessible ; — and more than one person 
in the parish had reached the bottom of the Glead's Cliff. 
Many were now attempting it, — and ere the cautious 

10 mother had followed her dumb guides a hundred yards, 
though among dangers, that, although enough to terrify 
the stoutest heart, were traversed by her without a shudder, 
the head of one man appeared, and then the head of an- 
other ; and she knew that God had delivered her and her 

15 child, in safety, into the care of their fellow-creatures. 

Not a word was spoken, — eyes said enough, — she 
hushed her friends with her hands, — and, with uplifted 
eyes, pointed to the guides sent to her by Heaven. Small 
green plats, where those creatures nibble the wild-flowers, 

20 became now more frequent, — trodden lines, almost as easy 
as sheep-paths, showed that the dam had not led her 
young into danger ; and now the brush-wood dwindled 
away into straggling shrubs ; and the party stood on a little 
eminence above the stream, and forming part of the strath. 

25 There had been trouble and agitation, much sobbing, 
and many tears, among the multitude, while the mother 
was scaling the cliffs : — sublime was the shout that echoed 
afar the moment she reached the eyrie ; — then had suc- 
ceeded a silence deep as death ; — in a little while arose 

30 the hymning prayer, succeeded by mute supplication ; — 
the wildness of thankful and congratulatory joy had next 
its sway ; — and now that her salvation was sure, the great 
crowd rustled like the wind-swept wood. And, for whose 
sake, was all this alternation of agony ? A poor, humble 

35 creature, unknown to many even by name, — one who had 
but few friends, nor wished for more, — contented to work 
all day, here, — there, — any where, — that she might be 
able to support her aged mother and her little child, — and 
who on Sabbath took her seat in an obscure pew, set apart 

40 for paupers, in the kirk. 



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[part h. 



LESSON LXXXVI. SCENE AT THE DEDICATION OF A HEATHEN 

TEMPLE. WILLIAM WARE. 

As we drew near to the lofty fabric, I thought that no 
scene of such various beauty and magnificence, had ever 
met my eye. The temple itself is a work of unrivalled 
art. In size, it surpasses any other building of the same 
5 kind in Rome, and for the excellence of workmanship, and 
purity of design, although it may fall below the standard 
of Hadrian's age, yet for a certain air of grandeur, and 
luxuriance of invention, in its details, and lavish profusion 
of embellishment in gold and silver, no temple nor other 

10 edifice of any preceding age, ever perhaps resembled it. 

Its order is Corinthian, of the Roman form, and the en- 
tire building is surrounded by its slender columns, each 
composed of a single piece of marble. Upon the front is 
wrought Apollo surrounded by the Hours. The western 

15 extremity is approached by a flight of steps, of the same 
breadth as the temple itself. At the eastern, there extends 
beyond the walls, to a distance equal to the length of the 
building, a marble platform, upon which stands the altar 
of sacrifice, and which is ascended by various flights of 

20 steps, some little more than a gently rising plain, up which 
the beasts are led that are destined to the altar. 

When this vast extent of wall and column, of the most 
dazzling brightness, came into view, everywhere covered, 
together with the surrounding temples, palaces, and thea- 

25 tres, with a dense mass of human beings, of all climes and 
regions, dressed out in their richest attire, — music, from in- 
numerable instruments, filling the heavens with harmony, 
— shouts of the proud and excited populace, every few mo- 
ments, and from difl^erent points, as Aurelian advanced, 

30 shaking the air with its thrilling din, — the neighing of 
horses, the frequent blasts of the trumpet, — the whole 
made more solemnly imposing by the vast masses of 
cloud, which swept over the sky, now suddenly unveiling, 
and again eclipsing, the sun, the great god of this idolatry, 

85 and from which few could withdraw their gaze ; when, at 
once, this all broke upon my eye and ear, I was like a 
child who before had never seen aught but his own village, 
and his own rural temple, in the effect wrought upon me, 
and the passiveness with which I abandoned myself to the 

40 sway of the senses. Not one there was more ravished by 
the outward circumstance and show, I thought of Rome's 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. ^05 

thousand years, of her power, her greatness, and universal 
empire, and, for a moment, my step was not less proud than 
that of Aurelian. 

But after that moment, — when the senses had had their 
5 fill, when the eye had seen the glory, and the ear had fed 
upon the harmony and the praise, then I thought and felt 
very differently ; sorrow and compassion, for these gay 
multitudes, were at my heart ; prophetic forebodings of dis- 
aster, clanger, and ruin to those, to whose sacred cause I 

10 had linked myself, made my tongue to falter in its speech, 
and my limbs to tremble. 1 thought that the superstition, 
which was upheld by the wealth and the power, whose mani- 
festations were before me, had its roots in the very centre 
of the earth, — far too deep down, for a few, like myself, ever 

15 to reach them. I was like one whose last hope of life and 
escape, is suddenly struck away. 



, LESSON LXXXVII. SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. ID. 

I was roused from these meditations, by our arrival at 
the eastern front of the temple. Between the two central 
columns, on a throne of gold and ivory, sat the emperor 
of the world, surrounded by the senate, the colleges of au- 
5 gurs and haruspices, and by the priests of the various 
temples of the capital, all in their peculiar costume. Then 
Fronto, the priest of the temple, when the crier had pro- 
claimed that the hour of worship and sacrifice had come, 
and had commanded silence to be observed, — standing at 

10 the altar, glittering in his white and golden robes, like a 
messenger of light, — bared his head, and lifting his face 
up toward the sun, offered, in clear and sounding tones, the 
prayer of dedication. 

As he came toward the close of his prayer, he, as is so 

15 usual, with loud and almost frantic cries, and importunate 
repetition, called upon the god to hear him, and then, with 
appropriate names and praises, invoked the Father of gods 
and men, to be present and hear. Just as he had thus 
solemnly invoked Jupiter by name, and was about to call 

20 on the other gods in the same manner, the clouds, which 
had been deepening and darkening, suddenly obscured the 
sun ; a distant peal of thunder rolled along the heavens, 
and, at the same moment, from the dark recesses of the 
temple, a voice of preternatural power came forth, proclaim- 
18 



20& 



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[part U. 



ing, so that the whole multitude heard, the words, — " God 
is but one ; the King eternal, immortal, invisible ! " 

It is impossible to describe the horror that seized those 
multitudes. Many cried out with fear, and each seemed 
5 to shrink behind the other. Paleness sat upon every face. 
The priest paused, as if struck by a power from above. 
Even the brazen Fronto was appalled. Aurelian leaped 
from his seat, and by his countenance, white and awe- 
struck, showed that to him it came, as a voice from the 

10 gods. He spoke not, but stood gazing at the dark 
entrance into the temple, from which the sound had come. 
Fronto hastily approached him, and whispering but one 
word, as it were, into his ear, the emperor started ; the 
spell that bound him, was dissolved ; and recovering him- 

15 self, — making, indeed, as though a very different feeling 
had possessed him, — cried out, in fierce tones, to his guards, 
•' Search the temple ! some miscreant, hid away among 
the columns, profane'^ thus the worship and the place. 
Seize him, and drag him forth to instant death !" 

20 The guards of the emperor, and the servants t)f the 
temple, rushed in at that bidding. They soon emerged, 
saying that the search was fruitless. The temple, in all 
its aisles and apartments, was empty. 



10 



15 



LESSON LXXXVIII. SAME SUBJECT CONCLUDED. ID. 

The heavens were again obscured by thick clouds, which, 
accumulating into dark masses, began now nearer and 
nearer to shoot forth lightning, and roll their thunders. 
The priest commenced the last office, prayer to the god, to 
whom the new temple had been thus solemnly conse- 
crated. He again bowed his head, and again lifted up 
his voice. But no sooner had he invoked the god of the 
temple, and besought his ear, than again, from its dark 
interior, the same awful sounds issued forth, this time 
saying, " Thy gods, Rome, are false and lying gods ; 
God is but one ! " 

Aurelian, pale as it seemed to me with superstitious 
fear, strove to shake it off, giving it, artfully and with 
violence, the appearance of offended dignity. His voice 
was a shriek, rather than a human utterance, as it cried 
out, '-This is but a Christian device; search the temple, 
till the accursed Nazarine be found, and hew him piece- 
meal ! " More he would have said ; but, at the instant, 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



207 



a bolt of lightning shot from the heavens, and, lighting 
upon a large sycamore, which shaded a part of the temple- 
court, clove it in twain. The swollen cloud at the same 
moment burst, and a deluge of rain poured upon the city, 
5 the temple, the gazing multitudes, and the kindled altars. 
The sacred fires went out, in hissing darkness ; a tempest 
of wind whirled the limbs of the slaughtered victims into 
the air, and abroad over the neighboring streets. All 
was confusion, uproar, terror and dismay. The crowds 

10 sought safety in the houses of the nearest inhabitants, and 
the porches of the palaces. Aurelian and the senators, 
and those nearest him, fled to the interior of the temple. 
The heavens blazed with the quick flashing of the light- 
ning; and the temple itself seemed to rock beneath the 

15 voice of the thunder. I never knew in Rome so terrific a 
tempest. The stoutest trembled ; for life hung by a thread. 
Great numbers, it has now been found, in every part of 
the capitol, fell a prey to the fiery bolts. The capitol itself 
was struck, and the brass statue of Vespasian, in the forum, 

20 thrown down, and partly melted. The Tiber, in a few 
hours, overran its banks, and laid much of the city and its 
borders under water. 



LESSON LXXXIX. HAMILTON AND JAY. DR. HAWKS. 

It were, indeed, a bold task to venture to draw into 
comparison the relative merits of Jay and Hamilton, on 
the fame and fortunes of their country, — a bold task, — and 
yet, bold as it is, we feel impelled, before closing, at least 
5 to venture on opening it. They were undoubtedly, "par 
nobile frafrum,'^ and yet not twin brothers, — 'Spares sed 
impares,^^ — like, but unlike. In patriotic attachment equal, 
for who would venture therein to assign to either the 
superiority ; yet was that attachment, though equal in 

10 degree, yet far different in kind : with Hamilton it was a 
sentiment, with Jay a principle, — with Hamilton enthu- 
siastic passion, with Jay duty as well as love, — with 
Hamilton patriotism was the paramount law, with Jay a 
law " sub graviori lege.^^'^ Either would have gone through 

15 fire and water to do his country service, and laid down 
freely his life for her safety, — Hamilton with the roused 
courage of a lion, — Jay with the calm fearlessness of a 
man ; or rather, Hamilton's courage would have been that 

* Under a weightier law. 



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[part n. 



|i 



of the soldier, — Jay's that of the Christian. Of the latter 
it might be truly said, — 

" Conscience made him firm, 
That boon companion, who her strong breastplate 
5 Buckles on him that fears no guilt within, 

And bids him on, and fear not." 

In intellectual power, in depth, and grasp, and versa- 
tility of mind, as well as in all the splendid and brilliant 
parts which captivate and adorn, Hamilton was greatly, 

10 not to say immeasurably, Jay's superior. In the calm and 
deeper wisdom of practical duty, — in the government of 
others, and still more in the government of himself, — in 
seeing clearly the right, and following it whithersoever it 
led, firmly, patiently, self-deniedly. Jay was again greatly, 

15 if not immeasurably, Hamilton's superior. In statesman- 
like talent, Hamilton's mind had in it more of " construc- 
tive " power. Jay's of " executive." — Hamilton had genius, 
Jay had wisdom. We would have taken Hamilton to 
plan a government, and Jay to carry it into execution ; 

20 and, in a court of law, we would have Hamilton for our 
advocate, if our cause v/ere generous, and Jay for judge, 
if our cause were just. 

The fame of Hamilton, like his parts, we deem to shine 
brighter and farther than Jay's, but we are not sure that 

25 it should be so, or rather we are quite sure that it should 
not. For, when we come to examine and* compare their 
relative course, and its bearing on the country and its 
fortunes, the reputation of Hamilton we find to go as 
far beyond his practical share in it, as Jay's falls short 

30 of his. Hamilton's civil official life was a brief and 
single, though brilliant one. Jay's numbered the years 
of a generation, and exhausted every department of diplo- 
matic, civil, and judicial trust. In fidelity to their country, 
both were pure to their heart's core ; yet was Hamilton 

35 loved, perhaps, more than trusted, and Jay trusted, per- 
haps, more than loved. 

Such were they, we deem, in differing, if not contrasted, 
points of character. Their lives, too, when viewed from 
a distance, stand out in equally striking, but much more 

40 painful, contrast. Jay's, viewed as a whole, has in it a 
completeness of parts, such as a nicer critic demands for 
the perfection of an epic poem, with its beginning of 
promise, its heroic middle, and its peaceful end, and par- 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



209 



taking, too, somewhat of the same cold stateliness, — noble, 
however, still and glorious, and ever pointing, as such 
poem does, to the stars, — "Szc itur ad astra" The life of 
Hamilton, on the other hand, broken and fragmentary, 
5 begun in the darkness of romantic interest, running on 
into the sympathy of all high passion, and at length 
breaking oif in the midst, like some half-told tale of 
sorrow, amid tears and blood, even as does the theme of 
the tragic poet. The name of Hamilton, therefore, was 

10 a name to conjure with, — that of Jay's to swear by. 
Hamilton had his frailties, arising out of passion, as tragic 
heroes have. Jay's name was faultless, and his course 
passionless, as becomes the epic leader, and, in point of 
fact was, while living, a name at which frailty blushed, 

15 and corruption trembled. 

If we ask whence, humanly speaking, came such dis- 
parity of the fate between equals, the stricter morals, the 
happier life, the more peaceful death, to what can we 
trace it, but to the healthful power of religion, over the 

20 heart and conduct? Was not this, we ask, the ruling 
secret? Hamilton was a Christian in his youth, and a 
penitent Christian, we doubt not, on his dying bed ; but 
Jay was a Christian, so far as man may judge, every day 
and hour of his life. He had but one rule, the gospel of 

25 Christ ; in that he was nurtured, — ruled by that, through 
grace he lived, — resting on that, in prayer, he died. 

Admitting, then, as we do, both names to be objects of 
our highest sympathetic admiration, yet, with the name 
of Hamilton, as the master says of tragedy, the lesson is 

30 given, — " with pity and in fear." Not so with that of Jay ; 
with him we walk fearless, as in the steps of one who was 
a CHRISTIAN, as well as a patriot. 



LESSON XC. ADAMS AND JEFFERSON. DANIEL WEBSTER. 

Adams and Jefferson, I have said, are no more. As 
human beings, indeed, they are no more. They are no 
more, as in 1776, bold and fearless advocates of indepen- 
dence ; no more, as on subsequent periods, the head of the 
government; no more, as we have recently seen them, 
aged and venerable objects of admiration and regard. 
They are no more. They are dead. 

But how little is there of the great and good, which can 
18=^ 



210 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U. 

die ! To their country they yet live, and live forever. 
They live, in all that perpetuates the remembrance of 
men on earth ; in the recorded proofs of their own great 
actions, in the offspring of their intellect, in the deep 
5 engraved lines of public gratitude, and in the respect and 
homage of mankind. They live in their example ; and 
they live, emphatically, and will live, in the influence 
which their lives and efforts, their principles and opinions, 
now exercise, and will continue to exercise, on the affairs 

10 of men, not only in their own country, but throughout the 
civilized world. 

A superior and commanding human intellect, a truly 
great man, when Heaven vouchsafes so rare a gift, is not 
a temporary flame, burning bright for a while, and then 

15 expiring, giving place to returning darkness. It is rather 
a spark of fervent heat, as well as radiant light, with 
power to enkindle the common mass of human mind ; so 
that, when it glimmers, in its own decay, and finally goes 
out in death, no night follows ; but it leaves the world all 

20 light, all on fire, from the potent contact of its own spirit. 

Bacon died; but the human understanding, roused, by 

the touch of his miraculous wand, to a perception of the 

true philosophy, and the just mode of inquiring after 

truth, has kept on its course, successfully and gloriously. 

25 Newton died; yet the courses of the spheres are still 
known, and they yet move on, in the orbits which he 
saw, and described for them, in the infinity of space. 

No two men now live, — perhaps it may be doubted, 
whether any two men have ever lived, in one age, — who, 

30 more than those we now commemorate, have impressed 
their own sentiments, in regard to politics and govern- 
ment, on mankind, infused their ow^n opinions more 
deeply into the opinions of others, or given a more lasting 
direction to the current of human thought. Their work 

35 doth not perish with them. The tree which they assisted 
to plant, will flourish, although they water it and protect 
it no longer; for it has struck its roots deep; it has sent 
them to the very centre; no storm, not of force to burst 
the orb, can overturn it ; its branches spread wide ; they 

40 stretch their protecting arms broader and broader, and its 
top is destined to reach the heavens. 

We are not deceived. There is no delusion here. No 
age will come, in whi€h the American revolution will 
appear less than it is, one of the greatest events in human 



PAET II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



'911 



history. No age will come, in which it will cease to be 
seen and felt, on either continent, that a mighty step, a 
great advance, not only in American affairs, but in human 
affairs, was made on the 4th of July, 1776. And no age 
5 will come, we trust, so ignorant, or so unjust, as not to see 
and acknowledge the efficient agency of these we now 
honor, in producing that momentous event. 



LESSON XCI. THE DESTINY OF OUR REPUBLIC. — G. S. HILLARD. 

Let no one accuse me of seeing wild visions, and dream- 
ing impossible dreams. I am only stating what may be 
done, and what will be done. We may most shamefully 
betray the trust reposed in us, — we may most miserably 
5 defeat the fond hopes entertained of us. We may become 
the scorn of tyrants and the jest of slaves. From our fate, 
oppression may assume a bolder front of insolence, and its 
victims sink into a darker despair. 

In that event, how unspeakable will be our disgrace,—^ 

10 with what weight of mountains will the infamy lie upon 
our souls. The gulf of our ruin aviII be as deep, as the 
elevation we might have attained, is high. How wilt 
thou fall from heaven, Lucifer, son of the morning ! 
Our beloved country with ashes for beauty, the golden 

15 cord of our uaion broken, its scattered fragments present- 
ing every form of misrule, from the wildest anarchy to the 
most ruthless despotism, our "soil drenched with fraternal 
blood," the life of man stripped of its grace and dignity, 
the prizes of honor gone, and virtue divorced from half its 

20 encouragements and supports, — these are gloomy pictures, 
which I would not invite your imaginations to dwell upon, 
but only to glance at, for the sake of the warning lessons 
we may draw from them. 

Remember, that we can have none of those consolations, 

25 which sustain the patriot, who mourns over the unde- 
served misfortunes of his country. Our Rome cannot fall, 
and we be innocent. No conqueror will chain us to the 
car of his triumph, — no countless swarm of Huns and 
Goths will bury the memorials and trophies of civilized 

30 life, beneath a living tide of barbarism. Our own selfish- 
ness, our own neglect, our own passions, and our own 
vices, will furnish the elements of our destruction. With 



212 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part 



our own hands, we shall tear down the stately edifice of 
our glory. We shall die hy self-inflicted wounds. 

But we will not talk of themes like these. We will not 
think of failure, dishonor, and despair. We will elevate 
5 our minds to the contemplation of our high duties, and the 
great trust committed to us. We will resolve to lay the 
foundations of our prosperity on that rock of private virtue, 
which cannot be shaken, until the laws of the moral world 
are reversed. From our own breasts shall flow the salient 

10 springs of national increase. Then our success, our hap- 
piness, our glory, will be as inevitable, as the inferences of 
mathematics. We may calmly smile at all ihe croakings 
of all the ravens, whether of native or foreign breed. 
The whole will not grow weak, by the increase of its 

15 parts. Our growth will be like that of the mountain oak, 
which strikes its roots more deeply into the soil, and clings 
to it with a closer grasp, as its lofty head is exalted, and 
its broad arms stretched out. The loud burst of joy and 
gratitude, which this, the anniversary of our Independence, 

20 is breaking from the full hearts of a mighty people, will 
never cease to be heard. No chasms of sullen silence will 
interrupt its course, — no discordant notes of sectional mad- 
ness, mar the general harmony. Year after year will in- 
crease it, by tributes from now unpeopled solitudes. The 

25 farthest West shall hear it and rejoice, — the Oregon shall 
swell it with the voice of its waters, — the Rocky mountains 
shall fling back the glad sound from their snowy crests. 



n 




LESSON XCII. POSTHUMOUS INFLUENCE OF THE WISE AND 

GOOD. ANDREWS NORTON. 

The relations, between man and man, cease not with life. 
The dead leave behind them their memory, their example, 
and the effects of their actions. Their influence still 
abides with us. Their names and cbaracters dwell in our 
5 thoughts and hearts. We live and commune with them 
in their writings. We enjoy the benefit of their labors. 
Our institutions have been founded by them. We are 
surrounded by the works of the dead. Our knowledge 
and our arts, are the fruit of their toil. Our minds have 
10 been formed by their instructions. We are most inti- 
mately connected with them, by a thousand dependencies. 
Those whom we have loved, in life, are still objects of our 
deepest and holiest affections. Their power over us re- 



g'ART n.] 



HEADER ANB SPEAKER. 



213 



maiRS. They are v/itk us, in our solitary walks ; and 
' their voices speak to our hearts, in the silence of midnight. 
Their image is impressed lapon our dearest recollectionsj 
and our most sacred hopes. They form an essential part 
5 of our treasure laid up in heaven. For, above all, we are 
separated from them but for a little time. We are soon to 
be united with them. If we follow in the path of those we 
have loved, we too shall soon join the innumerable com- 
pany of the spirits of just men made perfect. Our affections, 
iO and our hopes, are not buried in the dust, to which we 
commit the poor remains of mortality. The blessed retain 
their remembrance and their love for us, in heaven ; and 
we will cherish our remembrance and our love for them, 
while on earth. 
W Creatures of imitation and sympathy, as we are, we look 
around us for support and countenance, even in our virtues. 
We recur for them, most securely, to the examples of the 
dead. There is a degree of insecurity and uncertainty, 
about living worth. The stamp has not yet been put upon 
20 it, which precludes all change, and seals it up, as a just 
object of admiration for future times. There is no service 
which a man of commanding intellect can render his fel- 
low-creatures, better, than that of leaving behind him an 
unspotted example. If he do not confer upon them this 
25 benefit ; if he leave a character dark with vices, in the 
sight of God, but dazzling with shining qualities, in the 
view of men ; it may be that all his other services had bet- 
ter have been forborne, and he had passed, inactive and 
unnoticed, through life. It is a dictate of wisdom, there- 
to fore, as well as feeling, when a man, eminent for his vir- 
tues and talents, has been taken away, to collect the riches 
of his goodness, and add them to the treasury of human 
improvement. The true Christian Iweth not for himself 
and dieth not for himself ; and it is thus, in one respect, 
35 that he dieth not for himself. 



LESSON XCIII. LOOK ALOFT. J. LAWRENCE, JR. 

In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale 
Are around and above, if thy footing should fail, 
If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart, 
"Look aloft!" and be firm, and be fearless of heart. 

If the friend who embraced in prosperity's glow, 
With a smile for each joy and a tear for each woe, 



214 AMERICAN COBOION-SCHOOL [PAKT II. 

Should betray thee when sorrows like clouds are arrayed, 
" Look aloft ! " to the friendship which never shall fade. 

Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine 

eye, 
Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly, 
5 Then turn, and through tears of repentant regret, 
" Look aloft 1 " to the Sun that is never to set. 

Should they who are dearest, the son of thy heart. 
The wife of thy bosom, in sorrow depart, '"^t 

"Look aloft '^ from the darkness and dnst of the tomb, 
10 To that soil where affection is ever in bloom. 

And oh r when death comes in his terrors, to cast 
His fears on the future, his pall on the past, 
In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart» 
And a smile in thine eye, " look aloft " and depart. 



LESSON XCIV. OBE ON WAR. ^WM. H. BURLEIGH. 

Hark ! — the cry of Death is ringing 

Wildly from the reeking plain : 
Guilty Glory, too, is flinging 

Proudly forth her vaunting strain. 
5 Thousands on the field are lying, 

Slaughtered in the ruthless strife ; 
Wildly mingled, dead and dying 

Show the waste of human life I 

Christian ! can you idly slumber, 
10 While this work of hell goes on ? 

Can you calmly sit and number 

Fellow-beings, one by one, 
On the field of battle falling, 
Sinking to a bloody grave ? 
15 Up ! the God of peace is calling, 

Calling upon you to save ! 

Listen to the supplications 

Of the widowed ones of earth ; 

Listen to the cry of nations, 
20 Ringing loudly, wildly forth, — 

Nations bruised, and crushed forever 
By the iron heel of War ! 

God of mercy, wilt thou never 
Send deliverance from afar ? 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. SIS 

Yes ! a light is faintly gleaming 

Through the cloud that hovers o*er; 
Soon the radiance of its beaming 

Full upon our land will pour ; 
5 *T is the light that tells the dawning 

Of the bright millennial day, 
Heralding its blessed morning 

With its peace-bestowing ray, 

God shall spread abroad his banner, 
10 Sign of universal peace ; 

And the earth shall shout hosanna, 

And the reign of blood shall cease. 
Man no more shall seek dominion 
Through a sea of human gore ; 
15 War shall spread its gloomy pinion 

O'er the peaceful earth no more. 



LESSON XCV. THE LAST DAYS OF AUTUMN. HENRY PICKERING. 

Hark ! to the sounding gale ! how through the soul 
It vibrates, and in thunder seems to roll 
Along the mountains ! Loud the forest moans, 
And, naked to the blast, the o'ermastering spirit owns. 

5 Rustling, the leaves are rudely hurried by. 

Or in dark eddies whirled ; while from on high 
The ruffian Winds, as if in giant mirth, 
Unseat the mountain pine, and headlong dash to earth! 

With crest of foam, the uplifted flood no more 
10 Flows placidly along the sylvan shore ; 

But, vexed to madness, heaves its turbid wave, 
Threatening to leave the banks it whilom loved to lave : 

And in the angry heavens, where, wheeling low, 
The sun exhibits yet a fitful glow, 
15 The clouds, obedient to the stormy power, 

Or shattered, fly along, or still more darkly lower. 

Amazement seizes all ! within the vale 
Shrinking, the mute herd snuff'the shivering gale; 
The while, with tossing head and streaming mane, 
20 The horse affrighted bounds, or wildly skims the plain. 

Whither, with charms to Fancy yet so dear, 
Whither has fled the lovely infant year ? 



216^ AMERICAN C0MM0N-S€HO0I* |PAKt 

"Where, too, the groves in greener pomp arrayed ? 
The deep and solemn gloom of the inspiring shade ? 

The verdant heaven that once the woods o'erspread> 
And underneath a pensive twilight shed, 
5 Is shrivelled all : dead the vine-mantled bowers, 

And withered in their bloom the beautiful young flowers! 

Mute, too, the voice of Joy ! no tuneful bird 
Amid the leafless forest now is heard ; 
Nor more may ploughboy's laugh the bosom cheer, 
10 Nor in the velvet glade Love's whisper charm the ear. 

But lo ! the ruthless storm its force hath spent ; 
And see ! where sinking 'neath yon cloudy tent^ 
The sun withdraws his last cold, feeble ray. 
Abandoning to Night his short and dubious sway. 

15 A heavier gloom pervades the chilly air ! 

Now in their northern caves the Winds prepare 
The nitrous frost to sheet with dazzling white, 
The long deserted fields at the return of light : 

Or with keen icy breath they may glass o'er 
20 The restless wave, and on the lucid floor 

Let fall the feathery shower, and far and wide 
Involve in snowy robe the land and fettered tide ! 

Thus shut the varied scene ! and thus, in turn, 
O Autumn ! thou within thine ample urn 
25 Sweep'st all earth's glories. Ah, for one brief hour, 
Spare the soft virgin's bloom and tender human flower I 



LESSON XCVI. MAN. N. Y. EVENING POST. 

The human mind. — that lofty thing ! 

The palace and the throne. 
Where reason sits a sceptred king, 

And breathes his judgment tone. 
5 Oh ! who with silent step shall trace 

The borders of that haunted place, 

Nor in his weakness own 
That mystery and marvel bind 
That lofty thing, — the human mind ! 

JO The human heart, — that restless thing ! 

The tempter and the tried ; 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



gW 



The joyous, yet the suffering,— 
The source of pain and pride ; 
The gorgeous thronged, — the desolate, 
The seat of love, the lair of hate, — 
5 Self-stung, self-deified ! 

Yet do we bless thee as thou art, 
Thou restless thing,-^ — the human heart ! 

The human soul, — that startling thing ! 
Mysterious and sublime ! 
10 The angel sleeping on the wing 

Worn by the scoffs of time, — 
The beautiful, the veiled, the bound, 
The earth-enslaved, the glory-crowned, 
The stricken in its prime ! 
15 From heaven in tears to earth it stole, 

That startling thing, — the human soul! 

And this is man : — Oh ! ask of him, 

The gifted and forgiven, — 
While o'er his vision, drear and dim, 
20 The wrecks of time are driven ; 

If pride or passion in their power. 
Can chain the time, or charm the hour, 

Or stand in place of heaven ? 
He bends the brow, he bows the knee, — 
25 " Creator, Father ! none but thee ! " 



LESSON XCVII. 



10 



-PASSAGE DOWN THE OHIO.- 
PAULDING. 



-JAMES K. 



As down Ohio's ever-ebbing tide, 
Oarless and sailless, silently they glide, 
How still the scene, how lifeless, yet how fair, 
Was the lone land that met the strangers there ' 
No smiling villages, or curling smoke. 
The busy haunts of busy men bespoke ; 
No solitary hut the banks along, 
Sent forth blithe Labor's homely, rustic song; 
No urchin gambolled on the smooth white sand, 
Or hurled the skipping-stone with playful hand, 
While playmate dog plunged in the clear blue wave, 
And swam, in vain, the sinking prize to save. 
Where now are seen, along the river side. 
Young busy towns, in buxom painted pride, 
19 



218 



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[part m 



# 



10 



15 



20 



25 



And fleets of gliding boats with riches crowned^ 
To distant Orleans or St. Louis bound, 
Nothing appeared but nature unsubdued, 
One endless, noiseless woodland solitude. 
Or boundless prairie, that aye seemed to be 
As level and as lifeless as the sea ; 
They seemed to breathe in this wide world alone. 
Heirs of the Earth, — the land was all their own ! 

'T was evening now : the hour of toil was o'er, 
Yet still they durst not seek the fearful shore. 
Lest watchful Indian crew should silent creep, 
And spring upon and murder them in sleep ; 
So through the livelong night they held their way, 
And 't was a night might shame the fairest day ; 
So still, so bright, so tranquil was its reign. 
They cared not though the day ne'er came again. 
The moon high wheeled the distant hills above, 
Silvered the fleecy foliage of the grove. 
That, as the wooing zephyrs on it fell, 
Whispered, it loved the gentle visit well : 
That fair-faced orb alone to move appeared. 
That zephyr was the only sound they heard. 
No deep-mouthed hound the hunter's haunt betrayed, 
No lights upon the shore or waters played, 
No loud laugh broke upon the silent air. 
To tell the wanderers man was nestling there. 
All, all was still, on gliding bark and shore, 
As if the earth now slept to wake no more. 



10 



LESSON XCVin. SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. RIJFUS DAWES. 

The Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light, 
And wheels her course in a joyous flight, 
I know her track through the balmy air, 
By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there ; 
She leaves the tops of the mountains green, 
And gems the valley with crystal sheen. 

At morn, I know where she rested at night, 
For the roses are gushing with dewy delight ; 
Then she mounts again, and around her flings 
A shower of light from her purple wings. 
Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high, 
That silently fills it with ecstasy ! 



?ART il.] READER AND SPEAKER. §19 

At noon, she hies to a cool retreat, 
Where bowering* elms over waters meet ; 
She dimples th^ wave, where the green leaves dip ; 
That smiles, as it curls, like a maiden's lip, 
S When her tremulous bosom would hide in vain. 
From her lover, the hope that she loves again. 

At eve, she hangs o'er the western sky 
Dark clouds for a glorious canopy ; 
And round the skirts of each sweeping fold, 
10 She paints a border of crimson and gold. 

Where the lingering sunbeams love to stay. 
When their god in his glory has passed away. 

She hovers around us at twilight hour, 
When her presence is felt with the deepest power; 
15 She mellows the landscape, and crowds the stream 
With shadows that flit like a fairy dream : — 
Still wheeling her flight through the gladsome air, 
The Spirit of Beauty is every where I 



LESSON XCIX. EDUCATION OF FEMALES. — JOSEPH STORY. 

If Christianity may be said to have given a permanent 
elevation to woman, as an intellectual and moral being, it 
is as true, that the present age, above all others, has given 
play to her genius, and taught us to reverence its influ- 
5 ence. It was the fashion of other times to treat the lite- 
rary acquirements of the sex, as starched pedantry, or vain 
pretension; to stigmatize them as inconsistent with those - 
domestic affections and virtues, which constitute the charm 
of society. We had abundant homilies read upon their 
10 amiable weaknesses and sentimental delicacy, upon their 
timid gentleness and submissive dependence ; as if to taste 
the fruit of knowledge were a deadly sin, and ignorance 
were the sole guardian of innocence. Their whole lives 
were "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;" and 
15 concealment of intellectual power was often resorted to, to 
escape the dangerous imputation of masculine strength. 

In the higher walks of life, the satirist was not without 
color for the suggestion, that it w^as 

" A youth of folly, an old age of cards ; " 

20 and that, elsewhere, " most women had no character at 
all," beyond that of purity and devotion to their families. 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

Admirable as are these qualities, it seemed an abnse of the 
gifts of Providence, to deny to mothers the power of in- 
structing their children, to wives the privilege of sharing 
the intellectual pursuits of their husbands, to sisters and 
5 daughters the delight of ministering knowledge in the 
-fireside circle, to youth and beauty the charm of refined 
sense, to age and infirmity the consolation of studies 
which elevate the soul, and gladden the listless hours of 
despondency. 

10 These things have, in a great measure, passed away. 
The prejudices, which dishonored the sex, have yielded 
to the influence of truth. By slow, but sure advances, 
education has extended itself through all ranks of female 
society. There is no longer any dread, lest the culture of 

15 science should foster that masculine boldness, or restless 
independence, which alarms by its sallies, or wounds by 
its inconsistencies. We have seen that here, as every- 
where else, knowledge is favorable to human virtue 
and human happiness ; that the refinement of literature 

20 adds lustre to the devotion of piety ; that true learning, 
like true taste, is modest and unostentatious ; that grace 
of manners receives a higher polish from the discipline 
of the schools; that cultivated genius sheds a cheering 
light over domestic duties, and its very sparkles, like 

25 those of the diamond, attest at once its power and its 
purity. 

There is not a rank of female society, however high, 
which does not now pay homage to literature, or that would 
not blush, even at the suspicion of that ignorance, which, a 

30 half century ago, was neither uncommon, nor discreditable. 
There is not a parent, whose pride may not glow at the 
thought, that his daughter's happiness is, in a great meas- 
ure, within her own command, whether she keeps the 
cool, sequestered vale of life, or visits the busy walks of 

35 fashion. 

A new path is thus opened for female exertion, to alle- 
viate the pressure of misfortune, without any supposed 
sacrifice of dignity, or modest3^ Man no longer aspires to 
an exclusive dominion in authorship. He has rivals, or 

40 allies, in almost every department of knowledge ; and they 
are to be found among those, whose elegance of manners, 
and blamelessness of life, command his respect, as much 
as their talents excite his admiration. ' 



:1 



PART II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



221 



LESSON C. THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. ORVILLE DEWEY. 

The world is filled with the voices of the dead. They 
speak, not from the public records of the great world only, 
but from the private history of our own experience. They 
speak to us, in a thousand remembrances, in a thousand 
5 incidents, events, associations. They speak to us, not 
only from their silent graves, but from the throng of life. 
Though they are invisible, yet life is filled with their 
presence. 

They are with, us, by the silent fireside, and in the seclu- 

10 ded chamber : they are with us, in the paths of society, and 
in the crowded assembly of m^n. They speak to us, from 
the lonely way-side ; and they speak to us, from the ven- 
erable walls that echo to the steps of a multitude, and to 
the voice of prayer. Go, where we will, the dead are with 

15 us. We live, we converse, with those, who once lived and 
conversed with us. Their well remembered tone mingles 
with the whispering breezes, with the sound of the falling 
leaf, with the jubilee shout of the spring-time. The earth 
is filled with their shadowy train. 

20 But there are more substantial expressions of the pres- 
ence of the dead, with the living. The earth is filled with 
the labors, the works, of the dead. Almost all the litera- 
ture in the world, the discoveries of science, the glories 
of art, the ever-during temples, the dwelling-places of 

25 generations, the comforts and improvements of life, the 
languages, the maxims, the opinions, of the living, the very 
frame-work of society, the institutions of nations, the fabrics 
of empire, — all are the works of the dead : by these, they 
who are dead, yet speak. 



LESSON CI. THE JEWISH REVELATION. DR. NOTES. 

The peculiar religious character of the Psalms, which 
distinguishes them from the productions of other nations 
of antiquity, is well worthy of the attention of such as are 
disposed to doubt the reality of the Jewish revelation. 
I do not refer to the prophetic character, which some of 
them are supposed to possess, but to the comparative puri- 
ty and fervor of religious feeling, which they manifest ; 
the sublimity and justness of the views of the Deity, and 
of his government of the world, which they present ; and 
19# 



222 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 



the clear perception of a spiritual good, infinitely to be 
preferred to any external possession, wMch is found in 
them. Let them be considered, as the expression and fruit 
of the principles of the Jewish religion, as they existed 
5 in the minds of pious Israelites, and do they not bear 
delightful testimony to the reality of the successive reve- 
lations, alleged to have been made to the Hebrew nation, 
and of the peculiar relation which the Most High is said 
to have sustained towards them ? 

10 Let the unbeliever compare the productions of the 
Hebrew poets, vi^ith those of the most enlightened periods 
of Grecian literature. Let him explain, how it happened, 
that in the most celebrated cities of antiquity, which human 
reason had adorned with the most splendid trophies of art, 

15 whose architecture it is now thought high praise to imitate 
well, whose sculpture almost gave life to marble, whose 
poetry has never been surpassed, and whose eloquence has 
never been equalled, a religion prevailed, so absurd and 
frivolous, as to be beneath the contempt of a child, at the 

20 present day; while in an obscure corner of the world, in a 
nation in some respects imperfectly civilized, were breathed 
forth those strains of devotion, which now animate the 
hearts of millions, and are the vehicle of their feelings to 
the throne of God. Let him say, if there be not some 

25 ground for the conclusion, that whilst the corner-stone of 
the heathen systems of religion, was unassisted human 
reason, that of the Jewish was an immediate revelation 
from the Father of lights. 



LESSON Oil.— INCITEMENTS TO AMERICAN INTELLECT. 

G. S. HILLARD. 

The motives to intellectual action, press upon us with 
peculiar force, in our country, because the connection is 
here so immediate between character and happiness, 
and because there is nothing between us and ruin, but 
5 intelligence which sees the right, and virtue w^hich pur- 
sues it. 

There are such elements of hope and fear, mingled in 

the great experiment which is here trying, the results are 

so momentous to humanity, that all the voices of the past 

10 and the future, seem to blend in one sound of warning and 



II 



PAET II.] 



READER AND SPEAKER. 



223 



entreaty, addressing itself, not only to the general, but to 
the individual ear. By the wrecks of shattered states, by 
the quenched lights of promise, that once shone upon man, 
by the long deferred hopes of humanity, by all that has 
5 been done and suffered, in the cause of liberty, by the 
martyrs that died before the sight, by the exiles, whose 
hearts have been crushed in dumb despair, by the memory 
of our fathers and their blood in our veins, — it calls upon 
us, each and all, to be faithful to the trust which God has 

10 committed to our hands. 

That fine natures should here feel their energies palsied 
by the cold touch of indifference, that they should turn 
to Westminster Abbey, or the Alps, or the Vatican, to 
quicken their flagging pulses, is, of all mental anomalies, 

15 the most inexplicable. The danger would seem to be 

rather, that the spring of a sensitive mind may be broken 

by the weight of obligation that rests upon it, and that the 

stimulant, by its very excess, may become a narcotic. 

The poet must not plead his delicacy of organization, as 

20 an excuse, for dwelling apart in trim gardens of leisure, 
and looking at the world only through the loop-holes of 
his retreat. Let him fling himself, with gallant heart, 
upon the stirring life, that heaves and foams around him. 
He must call home his imagination from those spots, on 

25 which the light of other days has thrown its pensive 
charm, and be content to dwell among his own people. 
The future and the present must inspire him, and not the 
past. He must transfer, to his pictures, the glow of morn- 
ing, and not the hues of sunset. He must not go to any 

80 foreign Pharphar, or Abana, for the sweet influences which 
he may find in that familiar stream, on whose banks he 
has played as a child, and mused as a man. 

Let him dedicate his powers to the best interests of his 
country. Let him sow the seeds of beauty along that 

35 dusty road, where humanity toils and sweats in the sun. 
Let him spurn the baseness which ministers food to the 
passions which blot out, in man's soul, the image of God. 
Let not his hands add one seductive charm to the unzoned 
form of pleasure, nor twine the roses of his genius around 
.40 the reveller's wine-cup. Let him mingle with his verse 
those grave and high elements befitting him, around whom 
the air of freedom blows, and upon whom the light of 
heaven shines. Let him teach those stern virtues of self- 
control and self-renunciation, of faith and patience, of 



S24 



AlftERlCAN COMMON'SCHOOL 



[part II 



abstinence and fortitude, — ^which constitute the founda- 
tions alike of individual happiness, and of national proi 
perity. 

Let him help to rear up this great people to the stature 
5 and symmetry of a moral manhood. Let him look abroad 
upon this young world in hope, and not in despondency. Let 
him not be repelled by the coarse surface of material life. 
Let him survey it, with the piercing insight of genius, and 
in the reconciling spirit of love. Let him find inspiration, 

10 wherever man is found ; in the sailor, singing at the wind- 
lass ; in the roaring flames of the furnace ; in the dizzy 
spindles of the factory ; in the regular beat of the thresher's 
flail ; in the smoke of the steam-ship ; in the whistle of 
the locomotive. Let the mountain wind blow courage 

15 into him. Let him pluck from the stars of his own wintry 
sky, thoughts, serene as their own light, lofty as their own 
place. Let the purity of the majestic heavens flow into 
his soul. Let his genius soar upon the wings of faith, 
and charm with the beauty of truth. 




LESSON cm. IMPORTANCE OF KNOWLEDGE TO THE MECHANIC. 

G. B. EMERSON. 

Let us imagine, for a moment, the condition of an indi- 
vidual, who has not advanced beyond the merest elements 
of knowledge, who understands nothing of the principles 
even of his own art, and inquire, what change will be 
5 wrought in his feelings, his hopes, and happiness, in all 
that makes up the character, by the gradual inpouring of 
knowledge. He has now the capacity of thought, but it 
is a barren faculty, never nourished by the food of the 
mind, and never rising above the poor objects of sense. 

10 Labor and rest, the hope of mere animal enjoyment, or 
the fear of want, the care of providing covering and food, 
make up the whole sum of his existence. 

Such a man may be industrious, but he cannot love 
labor, for it is not relieved by the excitement of improving, 

15 or changing, the processes of his art, nor cheered by the 
hope of a better condition. When released from labor, 
he does not rejoice, for mere idleness is not enjoyment ; 
and he has no book, no lesson of science, no play of the 
mind, no interesting pursuit, to give a zest to the hour of 

20 leisure. Home has few charms for him; he has little 
taste for the quiet, the social converse, and exchange of 



PAET II.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. 2^ 

feeling and thought, the innocent enjoyments that ought 
to. dwell there. Society has little to interest him, for he 
has no sympathy for the pleasures or pursuits, the cares 
or the troubles of others, to whom he cannot feel nor 
5 perceive his bonds of relationship. 

All of life is but a poor boon for such a man ; and 
happy for himself and for mankind, if the few ties that 
hold him to this negative existence, be not broken. Happy 
for him, if that best and surest friend of man, that messen- 

10 ger of good news from Heaven to the poorest wretch on 
earth. Religion, bringing the fear of God, appear to save 
him. Without her to support, should temptation assail 
him, what an easy victim would he fall to vice or crime ! 
How little would be necessary to overturn his ill-balanced 

15 principles, and throw him grovelling in intemperance, or 
send him abroad, on the ocean, or the highway, an enemy 
to himself and his kind ! 

But let the light of science fall upon that man ; open to 
him the fountain of knowledge ; let a few principles of 

20 philosophy enter his mind, and awaken the dormant power 
of thought ; he begins to look upon his art, with an altered 
eye. It ceases to be a dark mechanical process, which he 
cannot understand ; he regards it, as an object of inquiry, 
and begins to penetrate the reasons, and acquire a new 

25 mastery over his own instruments. He finds other and 
better modes of doing what he had done before, blindly 
and without interest, a thousand times. He learns to 
profit by the experience of others, and ventures upon un- 
tried paths. Difficulties, which before would have stopped 

30 him at the outset, receive a ready solution from some 
luminous principle of science. He gains new knowledge 
and new skill, and can improve the quality of his manu- 
facture, while he shortens the process, and diminishes his 
own labor. 

35 Then, labor becomes sweet to him ; it is accompanied 
by the consciousness of increasing power ; it is leading 
him forward to a higher place among his fellow-men. 
Relaxation, too, is sweet to him, as it enables him to add 
to his intellectual stores, and to mature, by undisturbed 

40 meditation, the plans and conceptions of the hour of labor. 
His home has acquired a new charm ; for he is become a 
man of thought, and feels and enjoys the peace and seclu- 
sion of that sacred retreat ; and he carries thither the 
honest complacency which is the companion of well- 



226 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

earned success. There, too, bright visions of the future 
sphere open upon him, and excite a kindly feeling towards 
those who are to share in his prosperity. 

Thus, his mind and heart expand together. He has 
5 become an intelligent being; and, while he has learned to 
esteem himself, he has also learned to live no longer for 
himself alone. Society opens, like a new world, to him ; 
he looks upon his fellow-creatures with interest and 
sympathy, and feels that he has a place in their affections 

10 and respect. Temptations assail him in vain. He is 
armed by high and pure thoughts. He takes a wider 
view of his relations with the beings about and above 
him. He welcomes every generous virtue that adorns 
and dignifies the human character. He delights in the 

15 exercise of reason, — he glories in the consciousness and 
the hope of immortality. 



LESSON CIV. MACER PREACHING ON THE STEPS OF THE 

CAPITOL AT ROME. WILLIAM WARE. 

The crowd was restless and noisy, heaving to and fro, 
like the fiery mass of a boiling crater. A thousand excla- 
mations and imprecations filled the air. I thought it 
doubtful, whether the rage which seemed to fill a great 
5 proportion of those around me, would so much as permit 
him to open his mouth. It seemed rather, as if he would 
at once be dragged, from where he stood, to the prefect's 
tribunal, or hurled from the steps, and sacrificed at once to 
the fury of the populace. Upon the column, on his right 

10 hand, hung, emblazoned with gold, and beautiful with all 
the art of the chirographer, the edict of Aurelian. It was 
upon parchment, within a brazen frame. 

Soon as quiet was restored, so that any single voice 
could be heard, he began. 

15 " Romans ! the emperor, in his edict, tells me not to 
preach to you. Not to preach Christ in Rome, neither 
within a church, nor in the streets. Shall I obey him ? 
When Christ says, ' Go forth, and preach the gospel to 
every creature,' shall I give ear to a Roman emperor, who 

20 bids me hold my peace ? Not so, not so, Romans. I love 
God too well, and Christ too well, and you too well, to 
heed such bidding. I love Aurelian, too ; I have served 
long under him ; and he was ever good to me. He was a 
good, as well as great general ; and I loved him. I love 



PART II.] READER AND, SPEAKER. 227 

him now, but not so well as these ; not so well as you. 
And if I obeyed this edict, it would show that I loved him. 
better than you, and better than these, which would be 
false. 
5 If I obeyed this edict, I should never speak to you again 
of this new religion, as you call it. I should leave you 
all to perish in your sins, without any of that knowledge, 
or faith, or hope in Christ, which would save you from 
them, and form you after the image of God, and after 

10 death carry you up to dwell with him, and with just men, 
forever and ever. I should then, indeed, show that I 
hated you, which I can never do. I love you, and Rome, 
1 cannot tell how much, — as much as a child ever loved a 
mother, or children one another. And therefore, it is, that 

15 no power on earth, — nor above it, nor under it, — save that 
of God, shall hinder me from declaring to you, the doc- 
trine which I think you need, nay, without which, you 
never can be happy. For, what can your gods do for you ? 
What are they doing ? They lift you not up to them- 

20 selves, — they push you down rather to hell. They can- 
not save you from those raging fires of sorrow and 
remorse, which, here, on earth, do constitute a hell hot as 
any that burns below. 

I have told you before, and I tell you now, your vices 

25 are undermining the foundations of this great empire. 
There is no power to cure these, but in 'Jesus Christ.' 
And, when I know this, shall I cease to preach Christ to 
you, because a man, a man like myself, forbids me ? 
Would you not still prepare for a friend, or a child, the 

30 medicine that would save his life, though you were 
charged by another ever so imperiously to forbear ? The 
gospel is the divine medicament that is to heal all your 
sicknesses, cure all your diseases, remove all your mis- 
eries, cleanse all your pollutions, correct all your errors, 

35 and confirm within you all necessary truth. 

And when it is this healing draught for which your souls 
cry aloud, for which they thirst even unto death, shall I, 
the messenger of God, sent in the name of his Son, to bear 
to your lips the cup, of which, if you once drink, you shall 

40 live forever, withhold from you that cup, or dash it to the 
ground ? Shall I, a mediator between God and man, 
falter in my speech, and my tongue hang palsied in my 
mouth, because Aurelian speaks ? What to me, O Romans, 



228 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

is the edict of a Koman emperor ? Down, down, accttrsed 
SCRAWL ! nor insult longer both God and man." 

And saying that, he reached forth his hand, and, seizing 
the parchment, wrenched it from its brazen frame, and, 
5 rending it to shreds, strewed them abroad upon the air. 



lesson cv. death a sublime and universal moralist. — 

jared sparks. 

No object is so insignificant, no event so trivial, as not 
to carry with it a moral and religious influence. The 
trees, that spring out of the earth, are moralists. They are 
emblems of the life of man. They grow up ; they put on 
5 the garments of freshness and beauty. Yet these continue 
but for a time ; decay seizes upon the root and the trunk, 
and they gradually go back to their original elements. 
The blossoms, that open to the rising sun, but are closed 
at night, never to open again, are moralists. The seasons 

10 are moralists, teaching the lessons of wisdom, manifesting 
the wonders of the Creator, and calling on man to reflect 
on his condition and destin}^. History is a perpetual 
moralist, disclosing the annals of past ages, showing the 
impotency of pride and greatness, the weakness of human 

15 power, the folly of human wisdom. The daily occur- 
rences in society are moralists. The success or failure 
of enterprise, the prosperity of the bad, the adversity of 
the good, the disappointed hopes of the sanguine and 
active, the sufferings of the virtuous, the caprices of for- 

20 tune in every condition of life, all these are fraught with 
moral instructions, and, if properly applied, will fix the 
power of religion in the heart. 

But there is a greater moralist still ; and that is — Death. 
Here is a teacher, who speaks in a voice which none can 

25 mistake ; who comes with a power which none can resist. 
Since we last assembled in this place, as the humble and 
united worshippers of God, this stern messenger, this 
mysterious agent of Omnipotence, has come among our 
numbers, and laid his withering hand on one, whom we 

30 have been taught to honor and respect, whose fame was a 
nation's boast, whose genius was a brilliant spark from 
the ethereal fire, whose attainments were equalled only 
by the grasp of his intellect, the profoundness of his judg- 
ment, the exuberance of his fancy, the magic of his elo- 

35 quence. ______ 



^^1 



PAET II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 229 

LESSON CVI. REFORM IN MORALS. DR. BEECHER. 

The crisis has come. By the people of this generation, 
by ourselves, probably, the amazing question is to be 
decided, whether the inheritance of our fathers shall be 
preserved or thrown away ; whether our Sabbaths shall 
5 be a delight or a loathing ; whether the taverns, on that 
holy day, shall be crowded with drunkards, or the sanctu- 
ary of God, with humble worshippers ; whether riot and 
profaneness shall fill our streets, and poverty our dwell- 
ings, and convicts our jails, and violence our land, or 

10 whether industry, and temperance, and righteousness, shall 
be the stability of our times ; whether mild laws shall 
receive the cheerful submission of freemen, or the iron rod 
of a tyrant compel the trembling homage of slaves. Be 
not deceived. Human nature in this state is like human 

15 nature everywhere. All actual difference in our favor is 
adventitious, and the result of our laws, institutions, and 
habits. It is a moral influence, which, with the blessing 
of God, has formed a state of society so eminently desir- 
able. The same influence which has formed it, is indis- 

20 pensable to its preservation. The rocks and hills of New 
England will remain until the last conflagration. But let 
the Sabbath be profaned with impunity, the worship of 
God be abandoned, the government and religious instruc- 
tion of children neglected, and the streams of intemperance 

25 be permitted to flow, and her glory will depart. The wall 
of fire will no more surround her, and the munition of 
rocks will no longer be her defence. 

If we neglect our duty, and suffer our laws and institu- 
tions to go down, we give them up forever. It is easy to 

30 relax, easy to retreat, but impossible, when the abomina- 
tion of desolation has once passed over New England, to 
rear again the thrown down altars, and gather again the 
fragments, and build up the ruins of demolished institu- 
tions. Another New England, nor we, nor our children, 

35 shall ever see, if this be destroyed. All is lost irretriev- 
ably, when the land-marks are once removed, and the 
bands which now hold us, are once broken. Such insti- 
tutions, and such k state of society, can be established 
only by such men as our fathers were, and in such cir- 

40 cumstances as they were in. They could not have made 
a New England in Holland. They made the attempt, but 
failed. 

20 



230 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL 

The hand that overturns our laws and aUars, is the 
hand of death, unbarring the gate of Pandemonium, and 
letting loose upon our land the crimes and the miseries 
of hell. If the Most High should stand aloof, and cast 
5 not a single ingredient into our cup of trembling, it would 
seem to be full of superlative woe. But He will not stand 
aloof. As we shall have begun an open controversy with 
Him, He will contend openly with us. And never, since 
the earth stood, has it been so fearful a thing for nations 

10 to fall into the hands of the living God. The day of ven- 
geance is in His heart, the day of judgment has come ; 
the great earthquake which sinks Babylon is shaking the 
nations, and the waves of the mighty commotion are dash- 
ing upon every shore. Is this then a time to remove 

15 foundations, when the earth itself is shaken ? Is this a 
time to forfeit the protection of God, when the hearts of 
men are failing them for fear, and for looking after those 
things which are coming on the earth ? Is this a time to 
run upon His neck and the thick bosses of His buckler, 

20 when the nations are drinking blood, and fainting, and 
passing away in His wrath ? Is this a time to throw away 
the shield of faith, when His arrows are drunk with the 
blood of the slain ? To cut from the anchor of hope, when 
the clouds are collecting, and the sea and the waves are roar- 

25 ing, and thunders are uttering their voices, and lightnings 
blazing in the heavens, and the great hail is falling from 
heaven upon men, and every mountain, sea, and island, 
is fleeing in dismay, from the face of an incensed God ? 



LESSON evil. THE CHILD OF THE TOMB ; A STORY OF NEW- 
BUR VPORT. WM. B. TAPPAN. 

The following fact is found in Knapp's '' Life of Lord Dexter." 

Where Whitefield sleeps, remembered, in the dust, 
The lowly vault held once a double trust ; 
And Parsons, reverend name, that quiet tomb 
Possessed, — to wait the day of weal and doom. 
5 Another servant of the living God, 

Prince, who, (bereft of sight,) his way had trod, 
Unerringly and safe, life's journey through,- — 
Now sought admittance to these slumberers too. 
As earth receded, and the mansions blest 
10 Rose on his vision, — " Let my body rest 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. S31 

With Whitefield's," — said he, yielding up his breath, 
In life beloved, and not disjoined in death. 
Obedient to his wish, in order then 
Were all things done ; the tomb was oped to ken 
5 Of curious eyes, — made ready to enclose 
Another tenant in its hushed repose : 
And, lighted with a single lamp, whose ray 
Fell dimly down upon the mouldering clay, 
Was left, prepared, to silence as of night, 
10 Till hour appointed for the funeral rite. 

It chanced, the plodding teacher of a school, — 
A man of whim, bold, reckless, yet no fool, — 
Deemed this an opportunity to test 
How far the fears of spirits might infest 
15 The bosom of a child. A ' likely ' boy, 
The choicest of his flock, a mother's joy, 
He took, unscrupulous of means, if he 
His ends might gain, and solve the mystery. 

Both stood within the mansion of the dead, 
20 And while the stripling mused, the teacher fled. 

Leaving the child, where the dull cresset shone. 

With the dumb relics and his God alone. 

As the trap-door fell suddenly, the stroke. 

Sullen and harsh, his solemn revery broke. 
25 Where is he ? — Barred within the dreadful womb 

Of the cold earth, — the living in the tomb ! 

The opened coffins showed Death's doings, sad, — 

The awful dust in damps and grave-mould clad. 

Though near the haunt of busy, cheerful day, 
30 He, to drear night and solitude the prey ! 

Must he be watcher with these corpses ! — Who 

Can tell what sights may rise ? Will reason then be true ? 

Must he, — a blooming, laughter-loving child, — 

Be mated thus ? — The thought was cruel, wild ! 
35 His knees together smote, as first, in fear. 

He gazed around his prison ; — then a tear 

Sprang to his eyes in kind relief; and said 

The little boy, "J will not be afraid. 

Was ever spirit of the good man known 
40 To injure children whom it found alone ? " 

And straight he taxed his memory, to supply 

Stories and texts, to show he might rely 



m 



232 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

Most safely, humbly, on his Father's care, — 
Who hears a child's, as well as prelate's, prayer. 
And thus he stood, — on Whitefield's form his glance 
In reverence fixed, — and hoped deliverance. 

5 Meanwhile, the recreant teacher, — where was he ? 
Gone in effrontery to take his tea 
With the lad's mother ! — Supper done, he told 
The feat that should display her son as bold. 
With eye indignant, and with words of flame, 

10 How showers that mother's scorn, rebuke, and shame ! 
And bids him haste ! and hastes herself, to bring 
Him from Death's realm, who knew not yet its sting : 
And yet believed, — so well her son she knew, — 
The noble boy would to himself be true : 

15 He would sustain himself, and she would find 

Him patient and possessed, she trusted well his mind. 

The boy yet lives, — and from that distant hour 
Dates much of truth that on his heart hath power ; — 
And chiefly this, — ^whate'er of wit is wed 
20 To word of his, — to reverence the dead. 



LESSON CVin. — LOVE AND FAME. H. T. TUCZERMAN. 

Give me the boon of Love ! 
I ask no more for fame ; 
Far better one unpurchased heart 
Than Glory's proudest name. 
5 Why wake a fever in the blood, 

Or damp the spirit now. 
To gain a wreath whose leaves shall wave 
Above a withered brow ? 

Give me the boon of Love ! 
10 Ambition's meed is vain ; 

Dearer Affection's earnest smile 

Than Honor's richest train. 

I 'd rather lean upon a breast 

Eesponsive to my own, 
15 Than sit pavilioned gorgeously 

Upon a kingly throne. 

Like the Chaldean sage, 
Fame's worshippers adore 



PART n.] READER ANlT SPEAKER. 233 

The brilliant orbs that scatter light 
O'er heaven's azure floor ; 
But in their very hearts enshrined, 
The votaries of Love 
5 Keep e'er the holy flame, which once 

Illumed the courts above. 

Give me the boon of Love ! 
Renown is but a breath, 
Whose loudest echo ever floats 
10 From out the halls of death. 

A loving eye beguiles me more 
Than Fame's emblazoned seal, 
And one sweet tone of tenderness 
Than Triumph's wildest peal. 

15 Give me the boon of Love ! 

The path of Fame is drear, 

And Glory's arch doth ever span 

A hill-side cold and sere. 

One wild flower from the path of Love, 
20 All lowly though it lie, 

Is dearer than the wreath that waves 

To stern Ambition's eye. 

Give me the boon of Love ! 

The lamp of Fame shines far, 
25 But Love's soft light glows near and warm, — 

A pure and household star. 

One tender glance can fill the soul 

With a perennial fire ; 

But Glory's flame burns fitfully, — 
30 A lone, funereal pyre. 

Give me the boon of Love ! 
Fame's trumpet-strains depart. 
But Love's sweet lute breathes melody 
That lingers in the heart ; 
35 And the scroll of fame will burn. 

When sea and earth consume ; 
But the rose of Love, in a happier sphere, 
Will live in deathless bloom ! 
20^ 



234 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART 11. 

LESSON CIX. LAMENTATION OF REBECCA THE JEWESS. — G. LtTNT. 

If I had Jubal's chorded shell, 

O'er which the first-born music rolled, 
In burning tones, that loved to dwell 

Amongst those wires of trembling gold; 
5 If to my soul one note were given 

Of that high harp, whose sweeter tone 
Caught its majestic strain from heaven, 

And glowed like fire round Israel's throne; 
Up to the deep blue starry sky 
10 Then might my soul aspire, and hold 

Communion fervent, strong and high. 

With bard and king, and prophet old : 
Then might my spirit dare to trace 

The path our ancient people trod, 
15 When the gray sires of Jacob's race. 

Like faithful servants, walked with God ! 

But Israel's song, alas ! is hushed. 

That all her tales of triumph told. 
And mute is every voice, that gushed 
20 In music to her harps of gold ; 

And could my lyre attune its string 

To lofty themes they loved of yore, 
Alas ! my lips could only sing 

All that we were but are no more ! 
25 Our hearts are still by Jordan's stream, 

And there our footsteps fain would be ; 
But oh ! 't is like the captive's dream 

Of home, his eyes may never see. 
A cloud is on our fathers' graves, 
30 And darkly spreads o'er Zion's hill. 

And there their sons must stand as slaves, 

Or roam like houseless wanderers still. 

Yet where the rose of Sharon blooms. 

And cedars wave the stately head, 
85 Even now, from out the place of tombs. 

Breaks a deep voice that stirs the dead. 
Through the wide world's tumultuous roar, 

Floats clear and sweet the solemn word, — 
" virgin daughter, faint no more ; 
40 Thy tears are seen, thy prayers are heard ! 

What though, with spirits crushed and broke, 

Thy tribes like desert exiles rove, 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 235 

Though Judah feels the stranger's yoke, 
And Ephraim is a heartless dove ? — 

Yet, — yet shall Judah's lion wake, 
Yet shall the day of promise come. 
6 Thy sons from iron bondage break, 

And God shall lead the wanderers home ! " 



LESSON ex.— TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO. GRENVILLE MEl 

Wake your harp's music ! — louder, — higher, 
And pour your strains along ; 
And smite again each quivering wire. 
In all the pride of song ! 
5 Shout like those godlike men of old, 
Who, daring storm and foe, 
On this blest soil their anthem rolled. 
Two hundred years ago ! 

From native shores by tempests driven, 
10 They sought a purer sky, 

And found, beneath a milder heaven, 

The home of liberty I 

An altar rose, — and prayers, — a ray 

Broke on their night of woe, — 
1-5 The harbinger of Freedom's day. 

Two hundred years ago ! 

They clung around that symbol too. 
Their refuge and their all ; 
And swore, while skies and waves were blue, 
20 That altar should not fall. 

They stood upon the red man's sod, 
'Neath heaven's unpillared bow. 
With home, — a country, and a God, 
Two hundred years ago ! 

25 Oh ! 't was a hard unyielding fate 

That drove them to the seas, 

And Persecution strove with Hate, 

To darken her decrees : 

But safe above each coral grave, 
80 Each blooming ship did go, — 

A God was on the western wave, 

Two hundred years ago ! 



AMERICAN COIMMON-SCHOOL [pART II. 

They knelt them on the desert sand, 
By waters cold and rude, 
Alone upon the dreary strand 
Of oceaned solitude ! 
5 They looked upon the high blue air, 
And felt their spirits glow, 
Eesolved to live or perish there, — 
Two hundred years ago ! 

The warrior's red right arm was bared, 
10 His eyes flashed deep and wild : 

Was there a foreign footstep dared 

To seek his home and child ? 

The dark chiefs yelled alarm, — and swore 

The white man's blood should flow, 
15 And his hewn bones should bleach their shore, — 

Two hundred years ago ! 

But lo ! the warrior's eye grew dim, 
His arm was left alone, — 
The still, black wilds which sheltered him, 
20 No longer were his own ! 

Time fled, — and on the hallowed ground 
His highest pine lies low, — 
And cities swell where forests frowned, 
Two hundred years ago ! 

25 Oh ! stay not to recount the tale, — 

'T was bloody, — and 't is past ; 

The firmest cheek might well grow pale, 

To hear it to the last. 

The God of heaven, who prospers us, 
30 Could bid a nation grow. 

And shield us from the red man's curse, 

Two hundred years ago ! 

Come then, — great shades of glorious men, 

From your still glorious grave ; 
35 Look on your own proud land again, 

bravest of the brave ! 

We call you from each mouldering tomb. 

And each blue wave below, 

To bless the world ye snatched from doom, 
40 Two hundred years ago ! 



•i 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 237 

Then to your harps, — yet louder, — ^higher, 
And pour your strains along, — 
And smite again each quivering wire, 
In all the pride of song ! 
5 Shout for those godlike men of old, 

Who, daring storm and foe. 
On this blest soil their anthem rolled. 
Two hundred years ago ! 



LESSON CXI. THE STAGE. CHARLES SPRAGUE. 

Lo, where the Stage, the poor, degraded Stage, 
Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age ; 
There, — where, to raise the drama's moral tone. 
Fool Harlequin usurps Apollo's throne ; 
5 There, — where grown children gather round to praise 
The new-vamped legends of their nursery days ; 
Where one loose scene shall turn more souls to shame, 
Than ten of Channing's lectures can reclaim ; 
There, — where in idiot rapture we adore 

10 The herded vagabonds of every shore ; 

Women, unsexed, who, lost to woman's pride. 
The drunkard's stagger ape, the bully's stride; 
Pert, lisping girls, who, still in childhood's fetters. 
Babble of love, yet barely know their letters ; 

15 Neat-jointed mummers, mocking nature's shape, 
To prove how nearly man can match an ape ; 
Vaulters, who, rightly served at home, perchance 
Had dangled from the rope on which they dance ; 
Dwarfs, mimics, jugglers, all that yield content, 

20 Where Sin holds carnival, and Wit keeps lent ; 
Where, shoals on shoals, the modest million rush, 
One sex to laugh, and one to try to blush, 
When mincing Ravenot sports tight pantalettes, 
And turns fops' heads while turning pirouettes ; 

25 There, at each ribald sally, where we hear 
The knowing giggle and the scurrile jeer, 
While from the intellectual gallery first 
Rolls the base plaudit, loudest at the worst. 

Gods ! who can grace yon desecrated dome, 
30 When he may turn his Shakspeare o'er at home ? 
Who there can group the pure ones of his race. 
To see and hear what bids him veil his face ? 



Ill-' 



238 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 

Ask ye who can ? why, I, and you, and you : 
No matter what the nonsense, if 'tis new. 
To Dr. Logic's wit our sons give ear ; 
They have no time for Hamlet, or for Lear ; 
5 Our daughters turn from gentle Juliet's woe, 
To count the twirls of Almaviva's toe. 

Not theirs the blame who furnish forth the treat, 
But ours, who throng the board, and grossly eat. 
We laud, indeed, the virtue-kindling Stage, 
10 And prate of Shakspeare and his deathless page ; 
But go, announce his best, on Cooper call. 
Cooper, " the noblest Roman of them all;" 
Where are the crowds so wont to choke the door? 
'T is an old thing, they 've seen it all before. 

15 Pray Heaven, if yet indeed the Stage must stand, 

With guiltless mirth it may delight the land ; 

Far better else each scenic temple fall. 

And one approving silence curtain all. 

Despots to shame may yield their rising youth, 
20 But Freedom dwells with purity and truth. 

Then make the effort, ye who rule the Stage, — 

With novel decency surprise the age ; 

Even Wit, so long forgot, may play its part. 

And Nature yet have power to melt the heart; 
25 Perchance the listeners, to their instinct true, 

May fancy common sense, — 't were surely Something New. 



LESSON CXII. THE BURIAL-PLACE AT LAUREL HILL.- 

W. G. CLARK. 

Here the lamented dead in dust shall lie, 

Life's lingering languors o'er, its labors done ; 

Where waving boughs, betwixt the earth and sky, 
Admit the farewell radiance of the sun. 

5 Here the long concourse from the murmuring town, 
With funeral face and slow, shall enter in ; 
To lay the loved in tranquil silence down, 
No more to suffer, and no more to sin. 

And in this hallowed spot, where Nature showers 
10 Her summer smiles from fair and stainless skies, 
Affection's hand may strew her dewy flowers. 
Whose fragrant incense from the grave shall rise. 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 239 

And here the impressive stone, engraved with words 

"Which grief sententious gives to marble pale, 
Shall teach the heart ; while waters, leaves, and birds, 
Make cheerful music in the passing gale. 

5 Say, wherefore should we weep, and wherefore pour 
On scented airs the unavailing sigh, — 
While sun-bright waves are quivering to the shore, 
And landscapes blooming, — that the loved must die ? 

There is an emblem in this peaceful scene : 
10 Soon rainbow colors on the woods will fall ; 
And autumn gusts bereave the hills of green, 
As sinks the year to meet its cloudy pall. 

Then, cold and pale, in distant vistas round. 

Disrobed and tuneless, all the woods will stand ; 
15 "While the chained streams are silent as the ground, 
As Death had numbed them with his icy hand. 

Yet when the warm soft winds shall rise in spring. 
Like struggling day-beams o'er a blasted heath, 
The bird returned shall poise her golden wing, 
20 And liberal Nature break the spell of Death. 

So, when the tomb's dull silence finds an end, 
The blessed dead to endless youth shall rise ; 

And hear th' archangel's thrilling summons blend 
Its tone with anthems from the upper skies. 

25 There shall the good of earth be found at last. 

Where dazzling streams and vernal fields expand, 
Where Love her crown attains, — her trials past, — 
And, filled with rapture, hails " the better land ! " 



LESSON CXIII. THE GOOD WIFE. GEORGE W. BURNAP. 

The good wife ! How much of this world's happi- 
ness and prosperity, is contained in the compass of these 
two short words ! Her influence is immense. The power 
of a wife, for good, or for evil, is altogether irresistible. 
5 Home must be the seat of happiness, or it must be forever 
unknown. A good wife is, to a man, wisdom, and courage, 
and strength, and hope, and endurance. A bad one is 
confusion, weakness, discomfiture, despair. No condition 
is hopeless, when the wife possesses firmness, decision, 
10 energy, economy. "T^^Qre is up Qutw^^d, prosperity which 



240 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT n. 

can counteract indolence, folly, and extravagance at home. 
No spirit can long resist bad domestic influences. 

■ Man is strong ; but his heart is not adamant. He de- 
lights in enterprise and action ; but, to sustain him, he 
5 needs a tranquil mind, and a whole heart. He expends 
his whole moral force, in the conflicts of the world. His 
feelings are daily lacerated, to the utmost point of endur- 
ance, by perpetual collision, irritation, and disappointment. 
To recover his equanimity and composure, home must be 

10 to him a place of repose, of peace, of cheerfulness, of com- 
fort ; and his soul renews its strength, and again goes forth, 
with fresh vigor, to encounter the labors and troubles of 
the world. But if at home he find no rest, and there is 
met by a bad temper, sullenness, or gloom ; or is assailed 

15 by discontent, complaint, and reproaches, the heart breaks, 
the spirits are crushed, hope vanishes, and the man sinks 
into total despair. 

Let woman know, then, that she ministers at the very 
fountain of life and happiness. It is her hand that lades 

20 out, with overflowing cup, its soul-refreshing waters, or 
casts in the branch of bitterness, which makes them poison 
and death. Her ardent spirit breathes the breath of life 
into all enterprise. Her patience and constancy are mainly 
instrumental, in carrying forward, to completion, the best 

25 human designs. Her more delicate moral sensibility is 
the unseen power which is ever at work to purify and 
refine society. And the nearest glimpse of heaven that 
mortals ever get on earth, is that domestic circle, which 
her hands have trained to intelligence, virtue and love, 

30 which her gentle influence pervades, and of which her 
radiant presence is the centre and the sun. 



LESSON CXIV. A GOOD DAUGHTER. J. G. PALFREY. 

A good daughter ! — there are other ministries of love, 
more conspicuous than hers, but none, in which a gentler, 
lovelier spirit dwells, and none, to which the heart's warm 
requitals more joyfully respond. — There is no such thing, 
5 as a comparative estimate of a parent's affection, for one 
or another child. There is little which he needs to covet, 
to whom the treasure of a good child has been given. But 
a son's occupations and pleasures carry him more abroad ; 
and he lives more among temptations, which hardly per- 
10 mit the affection that is following him perhaps over half 



PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 241 

the globe, to be wholly unmingled with anxiety, till the 
time when he comes to relinquish the shelter of his father's 

-' roof, for one of his own ; while a good daughter is the 
steady light of her parent's house. 
5 Her idea is indissolubly connected with that of his 
happy fireside. She is his morning sun-light, and his 
evening star. The grace, and vivacity, and tenderness of 
her sex, have their place in the mighty sway which she 
holds over his spirit. The lessons of recorded wisdom 

10 which he reads with her eyes, come to his mind with a 
new charm, as they blend with the beloved melody of her 
voice. He scarcely knows weariness which her song does 
not make him forget, or gloom which is proof against the 
young brightness of her smile. She is the pride and orna- 

15 ment of his hospitality, and the gentle nurse of his sick- 
ness, and the constant agent in those nameless, numberless 
acts of kindness, which one chiefly cares to have rendered, 
because they are unpretending but all-expressive proofs 
of love. 

20 And then what a cheerful sharer is she, and what an 
able lightener of a mother's cares ! what an ever present 
delight and triumph to a mother's affection ! Oh ! how 
little do those daughters know of the power which God 
has committed to them, and the happiness God would have 

25 them enjoy, who do not, every time that a parent's eye 
rests on them, bring rapture to a parent's heart. A true 
love will, almost certainly, always greet their approaching 
steps. That they will hardly alienate. But their ambition 
should be, not to have it a love merely which feelings 

80 implanted by nature excite, but one made intense, and 
overflowing, by approbation of Avorthy conduct; and she 
is strangely blind to her own happiness, as well as unduti- 
ful to them to whom she owes the most, in whom the 
perpetual appeals of parental disinterestedness, do not call 

35 forth the prompt and full echo of filial devotion. 



LESSON CXV. RELIGION THE GUARDIAN OF THE SOUL. 

ORVILLE DEWEY. 

One of the circumstances of our moral condition, is 
danger. Religion, then, should be a guardian, and a vigi- 
lant guardian ; and let us be assured that the Gospel is 
such. Such emphatically do we need. If we cannot bear 
5 a religion that admonishes us, watches over us, warns us, 
21 



242 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

restrains us ; let us be assured that we cannot bear a reli- 
gion that will save us. Religion should be the keeper of 
the soul ; and without such a keeper, in the slow and 
undermining process of temptation, or amidst the sudden 
5 and strong assaults of passion, it will be overcome and lost. 
Again, the human condition is one of weakness. There 
are weak points, where religion should be stationed to 
support and strengthen us. Points, did I say ? Are we not 
encompassed with weakness ? Where, in the whole circle 

10 of our spiritual interests and affections, are we not exposed, 
and vulnerable? Where have we not need to set up the 
barriers of habit, and to build the strongest defences, with 
which resolutions, and vows, and prayers, can surround 
us ? Where, and wherein, I ask again, is any man safe ? 

15 What virtue of any man, is secure from frailty ? What 
strong purpose of his, is not liable to failure ? What 
affection of his heart can say, "I have strength, I am estab- 
lished, and nothing can move me?" 

How weak is man in trouble, in perplexity, in doubt ;■ — 

20 how weak in affliction, or when sickness bows the spirit, 
or when approaching death is unloosing all the bands of 
his pride and self-reliance ! And whose spirit does not 
sometimes faint under its intrinsic weakness, under its 
native frailty, and the burthen and pressure of its necessi- 

25 ties ? Religion, then, should bring supply, and support, 
and strength to the soul ; and the Gospel does bring supply, 
and support, and strength. And it thus meets a universal 
want. Every mind needs the stability which principle 
gives ; needs the comfort which piety gives ; needs it con- 

80 tinually, in all the varying experience of life. 



LESSON CXVI. FEATURES OF AMERICAN SCENERY. TUDOR. 

Our numerous waterfalls, the enchanting beauty of 
Lake George and its pellucid flood, of Lake Champlain, 
and the lesser lakes, afford many objects of the most 
picturesque character ; while the inland seas, from Supe- 
5 rior to Ontario, and that astounding cataract, whose roar 
would hardly be increased by the united murmurs of all 
the cascades of Europe, are calculated to inspire vast and 
sublime conceptions. The effects, too, of our climate, 
composed of a Siberian winter, and an Italian summer, 
10 furnish new and peculiar objects, for description. The 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. M3 

circumstances of remote regions are here blended, and 
strikingly opposite appearances witnessed, in the same 
spot, at different seasons of the year. In our winters, we 
have the sun at the same altitude as in Italy, shining 
5 on an unlimited surface of snow, which can only be found 
in the higher latitudes of Europe, where the sun, in the 
winter, rises little above the horizon. The dazzling brill- 
iancy of a winter's day, and a moonlight night, in an 
atmosphere astonishingly clear and frosty, when the 

10 utmost splendor of the sky is reflected from a surface of 
spotless white, attended with the most excessive cold, is 
peculiar to the northern part of the United States. 
What, too, can surpass the celestial purity and transpa- 
rency of the atmosphere, in a fine autumnal day, when our 

15 vision, and our thought, seem carried to the third heaven ; 
the gorgeous magnificence of the close, when the sun 
sinks from our view, surrounded with various masses of 
clouds, fringed with gold and purple, and reflecting, in 
evanescent tints, all the hues of the rainbow. 



LESSON CXVII. STUDY OF HUMAN NATURE ESSENTIAL TO A 

TEACHER. G. B. EMERSON. 

If you were about to engage, in a capacity higher than 
that of a day laborer, in any other pursuit than that of 
teaching, would you not set yourself at once to under- 
stand what was the object which you should endeavor to 
5 have in view, and what the machinery by which you 
could attain it ? If you were going to manufacture wool- 
len goods, you would wish to understand the nature of 
the raw material, the processes and machinery by which 
it is to be acted on, and to judge of the quality of the 

10 article you wished to produce. Will you do less, when 
the mechanism with which you are to operate is the work 
of an Infinite Architect ? and the web to be woven is the 
rich and varied fabric of human character ? 

If you were about to engage in agriculture, you would 

15 take care to inform yourself as to the nature of the soil, 
its adaptation to the various kinds of grain and vegeta- 
bles, and the season of the, year, at which, in this climate, 
it is most proper to prepare the ground, to plough, to sow 
the seed, and to reap and gather into the barn. Will you 

20 take less care, when the soil is the human soul, the seed 



244 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U. 

is the word of life, the harvest, the end of the world, and 
the reapers, angels ? 

If you were going to navigate the ocean, you would 
wish to know how to judge of the ship, to sail and steer; 
5 you would inquire about the currents that would set you 
from your course, and the winds that should bear you 
onward ; you would learn to trace the moon's course 
among the stars, and to look aloft to the sun in his path, 
that you might not drift at random on the broad sea, but 

10 speed towards your desired haven, as if you could see it ris- 
ing before you above the blue waves. So much you would 
do that you might convey in safety a few tons of mer- 
chandise ; and all men would hold you unwise if you did 
less. Shall they not tax you with worse than folly, if 

15 you make less preparation when your ship is the human 
soul, freighted with a parent's and a nation's hopes, — with 
the hopes of immortality, — if you fail to study the cur- 
rents of passion, to provide against the rocks of tempta- 
tion, and to look aloft for the guiding light which shines 

20 only from Heaven. 

But, to speak without simile, the study of mental phi- 
losophy is of the greatest importance to a teacher, in every 
point of view. If we would exercise the several powers, 
w*e must know what they are, and by what discipline they 

25 are to be trained. If we would cultivate them harmoni- 
ously, in their natural order and proportion, we must 
know which of them first come into action, Avhich are 
developed at a later age, and what are the province and 
functions of each. Without this knowledge, we can 

30 hardly fail of losing the most propitious times for begin- 
ning their cultivation ; we shall make the common mis- 
take of attempting certain studies too soon, or we shall 
make use of means little suited to the ends we have in 
view. 

35 Important as this study is, it is no more difficult than 
any other, if, in regard to it, we take the same course 
which we find the true one in other investigations, — if, 
laying aside conjectures, dreams, and speculations, we 
adopt the safe and philosophical rule, to observe carefully 

40 and extensively the facts, and draw from them only their 
legitimate conclusions. 

There are three sources from which we are to draw 
light ; first, the facts of our own consciousness, the most 
difficult of all to consult ; second, the facts we observe in 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 245 

the mental growth of others, especially of children ; and 
last, the great storehouse of recorded facts contained in 
the works of those, who, directly or indirectly, have writ- 
ten upon this subject. 

LESSON CXVm. EDUCATION. — -DR. HUMPHREY. 

[From an Inaugural Address delivered at Amherst College.] 

Convened as we are this day, in the portals of science 
and literature, and with their arduous heights, and pro- 
found depths, and Elysian fields before us, education 
offers itself as the inspiring theme of our present medila- 
5 tions. This, in a free, enlightened, and Christian state, is 
confessedly a subject of the highest moment. How can 
the diamond reveal its lustre from beneath incumbent 
rocks and earthly strata ? How can the marble speak, or 
stand forth in all the divine symmetry of the human form, 

10 till it is taken from the quarry, and fashioned by the hand 
of the artist? And how can man be intelligent, happy, or 
useful, without the culture and discipline of education ? 

It is this that smooths and polishes the roughnesses of 
his nature. It is this, that unlocks the prison-house of his 

15 mind, and brings out the captive. It is the transforming 
hand of education, which is now, in so many heathen 
lands, moulding savageness and ignorance, pagan fanati- 
cism, and brutal stupidity, revenge, and treachery, and 
lust, — and, in short, all the warring elements of our lapsed 

20 nature, into the various forms of exterior decency, of men- 
tal symmetry, and of Christian loveliness. It is education 
that pours light into the understanding, lays up its golden 
treasures in the memory, softens the asperities of the tem- 
per, checks the waywardness of passion and appetite, and 

25 trains to habits of industry, temperance, and benevolence. 
It is this, which qualifies men for the pulpit, the senate, 
the bar, the art of healing, and the bench of justice. It is 
to education, to its domestic agents, its schools and col- 
leges, its universities and literary societies, that the world 

30 is indebted for a thousand comforts and elegancies of 
civilized life, for almost every useful art, discovery, and 
invention. 

In a word, education, regarding man as a rational, 
accountable, and immortal being, elevates, expands, and 

35 enriches his mind; cultivates the best affections of his 
heart; pours a thousand sweet and gladdening streams 
around the dwellings of the poor, as well as the mansions 
21^ 



S46 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 



of the rich ; and while it greatly multiplies and enhances 
the enjoyments of time, helps to train up the soul for the 
bliss of eternity. 



LESSON CXIX. — PROaRESS OF SCIENCE, EDWARD EVERETT. 

[From an Address before the Mass. Mechanic Association.] 

Besides all that may be hoped for, by the diligent and 
ingenious use of the materials for improvement, afforded 
by the present state of the arts, the progress of science 
teaches us to believe, that principles, elements, and 
6 powers, are in existence and operation around us, of 
which we have a very imperfect knowledge, perhaps no 
knowledge whatever. 

Commencing with the mariner's compass, in the middle 
ages, a series of discoveries have been made, connected 

10 with magnetism, electricity, galvanism, the polarity of 
light, and the electro-magnetic phenomena, which are 
occupying so much attention at the present day, all of 
which are more or less applicable to the useful arts, and 
which may well produce the conviction that, if, in some 

15 respects, we are at the meridian, we are, in other respects, 
in the dawn of science. 

In short, all art is a creation of the mind of man ; — an 
essence of infinite capacity for improvement. And it is 
of the nature of every intelligence, endowed with such a 

20 capacity, however mature in respect to the past, to be at 
all times, in respect to the future, in a state of hopeful 
infancy. However vast the space measured behind, the 
space before is immeasurable ; and though the mind may 
estimate the progress it has made, the boldest stretch of 

25 its powers is inadequate to measure the progress of which 
it is capable. 

Let me say, then. Persevere. Do any ask what you 
have done, and what you are doing, for the public good ? 
Send them to your exhibition rooms, and let them see the 

30 walls of the Temple of American Liberty,"^ fitly covered 
with the products of American art. And while they gaze, 
with admiration, on these creations of the mechanical arts 
of the country, bid them remember that they are the pro- 
ductions of a people, whose fathers were told by the 

35 British ministry, they should not manufacture a hob-nail. 
Does any one ask, in disdain, for the great names who 

* Faneuil Hall. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. S47 

have illustrated the mechanic arts ; tell him of Arkwright 
and Watt, of Franklin, of Whitney and Fulton, whose 
memory will dwell in the grateful recollections of pos- 
terity, when the titled and laureled destroyers of mankind 
5 shall be remembered only with detestation. 

Mechanics of America, respect your calling, respect 
yourselves. The cause of human improvement has no 
firmer, or more powerful friends. In the great temple of 
nature, whose foundation is the earth, — whose pillars are 
10 the eternal hills, — whose roof is the star-lit sky, — whose 
organ-tones are the whispering breeze and the sounding 
storm, — whose architect is God, there is no ministry more 
noble than that of the intelligent mechanic ! 



LESSON CXX.— PURPOSE OF THE BUNKER-HILL MONUMENT. 

DANIEL WEBSTER. 

We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actions 
is most safely deposited in the universal remembrance of 
mankind. We know, that if we could cause this structure 
to ascend, not only till it reached the skies, but till it 
5 pierced them, its broad surfaces could still contain but 
part of that, which, in an age of knowledge, hath already 
been spread over the earth, and which history charges 
itself with making known to all future times. We know, 
that no inscription on entablatures less broad than the 

10 earth itself, can carry information of the events we com- 
memorate, where it has not already gone ; and that no 
structure, which shall not outlive the duration of letters 
and knowledge among men, can prolong the memorial. 
But our object is, by this edifice, to show our own deep 

15 sense of the value and importance of the achievements of 
our ancestors ; and, by presenting this work of gratitude 
to the eye, to keep alive similar sentiments, and to foster 
a constant regard for the principles of the revolution. 
Human beings are composed not of reason only, but of 

20 imagination also, and sentiment ; and that is neither 
wasted nor misapplied which is appropriated to the pur- 
pose of giving right direction to sentiments, and opening 
proper springs of feeling in the heart. 

Let it not be supposed, that our object is to perpetuate 

25 national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military 
spirit. It is higher, purer, nobler. We consecrate our 
work to the spirit of national independence, and we wish 



248 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



that the light of peace may rest upon it forever. We rear 
a memorial of our conviction of that unmeasured benefit, 
which has been conferred on our own land, and of the 
happy influences, which have been produced, by the 
5 same events, on the general interests of mankind. 

We come, as Americans, to mark a spot, which must 
forever be dear to us and our posterity. We wish that 
whosoever, in all coming time, shall turn his eye hither, 
may behold that the place is not undistinguished, where 

10 the first great battle of the revolution was fought. We 
wish that this structure may proclaim the magnitude and 
importance of that event, to every class and every age. 
We wish that infancy may learn the purpose of its erec- 
tion from maternal lips, and that wearied and withered 

15 age may behold it, and be solaced by the recollections 
which it suggests. We wish that labor may look up 
here, and be proud, in the midst of its toil. We wish 
that, in those days of disaster, which, as they come on all 
nations, must be expected to come on us also, desponding 

20 patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward, and be assured, 
that the foundations of our national power still stand 
strong. 

We wish that this column, rising towards heaven, 
among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated 

25 to God, may contribute also to produce, in all minds, a 
pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, 
finally, that the last object on the sight of him who leaves 
his native shore, and the first to gladden his who revisits 
it, may be something which shall remind him of the 

30 liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise, till it 
meet the sun in his coming; let the earliest light of the 
morning gild it, and parting day linger and play on its 
summit. 



cxxi. 



-THE AMERICAN FLAG. J. R. DRAKE. 



When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night. 

And set the stars of glory there. 
She mingled with its gorgeous dies 
The milky baldric of the skies. 
And striped its pure celestial white, 
With streakings of the morning light ; 



IPAKt II.3 EEABER AND SPEAKER. 249 

Then, from his mansion in the sun^ 
She called her eagle bearer down. 
And gave into his mighty hand, 
The symbol of her chosen land, 

^ Majestic monarch of the cloud, 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
T© hear the tempest trumpings loud 

And see the lightning lances driven. 
When strive the warriors of the storm, 
W And rolls the thunder-drum of heavens- 

Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 
To guard the banner of the free ; 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle stroke ; 
15 And bid its blendings shine afar, 

Like rainbows on the cloud of war. 
The harbingers of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly. 

The sign of hope and triumph high, 
^G When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 

And the long line comes gleaming on. 

Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 

Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 
25 To where thy sky-born glories burn ; 

And, as his springing steps advance. 

Catch war and vengeance from the glance ; 

And when the cannon-mouthings loud, 

Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud ; 
30 And gory sabres rise and fall, 

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall ; 

Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 

Each gallant arm that strikes below 
35 That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave, 
When death, careering on the gale. 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
40 And frighted waves rush wildly back, 

Before the broadside's reeling rack : 
Each dying wanderer of the sea. 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee ; 



250 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT Iti 

And smile to see thy splendor fly, 

In triumpli, o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home I 

By angel hands to valor given ; 
5 The stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
For ever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us. 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 
10 And Freedom's banner streaming; o^er us ? 



LESSON CXXII. GREECE IN 1820. J, G. BROOKS. 

Land of the brave ! where lie inumed 
The shrouded forms of mortakclay, 
In whom the fire of valor burned, 
And blazed upon the battlers fray; 
5 Land where the gallant Spartan few 

Bled at Thermopylse of yore. 
When death his purple garment threw 
On Hellas' consecrated shore I 

Land of the Muse 1 within thy bowers 
10 Her soul-entrancing echoes rung. 

While on their course the rapid hours 
Paused at the melody she rung ; 
Till every grove and every hill, 
And every stream that flowed along, 
15 From mom to night repeated still 

The winning harmony of song. 

Land of dead heroes ! living slaves ! 
Shall glory gild thy clime no more ? 
Her banner float above thy waves, 
30 Where proudly it hath swept before ? 

Hath not remembrance then a charm 
To break the fetter and the chain ; 
To bid thy children nerve the arm, 
And strike for freedom once again ? 

25 No ! coward souls ! the light which shone 

On Leuctra's war-empurpled day. 
The light which beamed on Marathon, 
Halh lost its splendor, ceased to play ; 
And thou art but a shadow now, 

30 With helmet shattered, spear in rust ; 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. S5l 

Thine honor but a dream, and thou 
Despised, degraded in the dust ! 
Where sleeps the spirit, that of old 
Dashed down to earth the Persian plume, 
§ When the loud chant of triumph told 

How fatal was the despot's doom ? 
The bold three hundred — where are they. 
Who died on battle's gory breast ? 
Tyrants have trampled on the clay, 
10 Where death has hushed them into rest. 

Yet, Ida, yet upon thy hill, 
A glory shines of ages fled ; 
And fame her light is pouring still, 
Not on the living, but the dead ; 
15 But 't is the dim sepulchral light, 

Which sheds a faint and feeble ray. 
As moon-beams on the brow of night. 
When tempests sweep upon their way. 

Greece ! yet awake thee from thy trance ; 
20 Behold thy banner waves afar ; 

Behold the glittering weapons glance 

Along the gleaming front of war ! 

A gallant chief of high emprize,"^ 

Is urging foremost in the field, 
25 Who calls upon thee to arise 

In might, in majesty revealed. 

In vain, in vain the hero calls; 
In vain he sounds the trumpet loud; 
His banner totters ; see, it falls 
30 In ruin, freedom's battle shroud ; 

Thy children have no soul to dare 
Such deeds as glorified their sires ; 
Their valor 's but a meteor's glare. 
Which gleams a moment and expires. 

35 Lost land ! where Genius made his reign, 

And reared his golden arch on high ; 

Where science raised her sacred fane, 

Its summit peering to the sky ; 

Upon thy clime the midnight deep 
40 Of ignorance hath brooded long ; 

* Ypsilanti. 



252 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [?AET B, 

And in the tomb, forgotten, sleep 
The sons of science and of song. 

Thy sun hath set, the evening storm 
Hath passed in giant fury by, 
5 To blast the beauty of thy form, 

And spread its pall upon the sky ; 
Gone is thy glory's diadem, 
And freedom never more shall cease 
To pour her mournful requiem 
10 O'er blighted, lost, degraded Greece ! 



LESSON CXXIII. THE WILD BOY. CHARLES WEST THOMSON. 

He sat upon the wave-washed shore 

With madness in his eye ; 
The surge's dash, — the breaker's roar, 

Pass'd unregarded by ; 
5 He noted not the billows' roll. 

He heeded not their strife, — 
For terror had usurped his soul, 

And stopped the streams of life. 

They spoke him kindly, — but he gazed, 
10 And offered no reply ;— 

They gave him food, — he looked amazed. 

And threw the morsel by. 
He was as one o*er whom a spell 
Of darkness hath been cast ; 
15 His spirit seemed to dwell alone. 

With dangers that were past. 

The city of his home and heart, 

So grand, — so gaily bright, 
Now touched by fate's unerring dart, 
20 Had vanished from his sight. 

The earthquake's paralyzing shake 

Had rent it from its hold, — 
And nothing but a putrid lake, 

Its tale of terror told. 

25 His kindred there, a numerous band, 

Had watched his youthful bloom,^ 
In the broad ruin of the land. 
All — all had met their doom ! 



i 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 

But the last night, a mother's voice, 
Breathed over him in prayer, — 

She perished, — he was left no choice 
But mute and blank despair. 

5 He sat alone, of all the crowd 

That lately thronged around, — 
The ocean winds were piping loud, 

He did not heed their sound ; 
They asked him of that city's fate, 
10 But reason's reign was o'er, — 

He pointed to her ruined state, 
Then jled, — and spoke no more. 



LESSON CXXIV. THE CURE OF MELANCHOLY. CARLOS WILCQX. 

And thou to whom long worshipped nature lends 

No strength to fly from grief or bear its weight, j 

Stop not to rail at foes or fickle friends, j 

Noj set the world at naught, nor spurn at fate ; ! 

5 None seek thy misery, none thy being hate ; \ 

Break from thy former self, thy life begin ; 1 

Do thou the good thy thoughts oft meditate, ] 
And thou shalt feel the good man's peace within. 

And at thy dying day his wreath of glory win. j 

10 With deeds of virtue to embalm his name, | 

He dies in triumph or serene delight ; J 

"Weaker and weaker grows his mortal frame \ 

At every breath, but in immortal might | 

His spirit grows, preparing for its flight : i 

15 The world recedes and fades like clouds of even, I 

But heaven comes nearer fast, and grows more bright, j 

All intervening mists far off' are driven ; ) 

The world will vanish soon, and all will soon be heaven. , ■ 

Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? 
20 Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold ? 

Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief? 

Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold. j 

'T is when the rose is wrapped in many a fold 

Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there 
25 Its life and beauty ; not, when all unrolled, ' 

Leaf after leaf its bosom rich and fair ^ ' 

Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air, i 

22 i 



254 



AMERICAN COHMON-SCHOOL 



[fart is. 



HIi 



10 



15 



Wake ! thou that sleepest in enchanted "bowers. 
Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night 
When death is waiting for thy numbered hours 
To take their swift and everlasting flight ; 
Wake I ere the earthborn charm unnerve thee quite. 
And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed ; 
Do something, — do it soon, — with all thy might; 
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest, 
And God himself inactive were no longer blessed. 

Some high or humble enterprise of good 
Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind, 
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food, 
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined ; 
Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind 
To this thy purpose, — to begin, pursue, 
With thoughts all fixed and feelings purely kind. 
Strength to complete and with delight review, 
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due. 



LESSON CXXV. MY NATIVE VILLAGE. JOHN H. BRYANT. 

There lies a village in a peaceful vale. 

With sloping hills and waving woods around, 

Fenced from the blasts. There never ruder gale 
Bows the tall grass that covers all the ground ; 
5 And planted shrubs are there, and cherished flowers. 

And a bright verdure born of gentle showers. 

'T was there my young existence was begun, 

My earliest sports were on its flowery green, 

And often, when my schoolboy task was done, 

10 I climbed its hills to view the pleasant scene, 

And stood and gazed till the sun's setting ray 

Shone on the height, — the sweetest of the day. 

There, when that hour of mellow light was come, 
And mountain shadows cooled the ripened grain, 
15 I watched the weary yeoman plodding home, 
In the lone path that winds across the plain, 
To rest his limbs, and watch his child at play, 
And tell him o'er the labors of the day. 

And when the woods put on their autumn glow, 
20 And the bright sun came in among the trees, 



iPART II.| EEA-DER AND SPEAKER, 25S 

And leaves were gathering in the glen below. 

Swept softly from the mountains by the breeze, 
I wandered till the starlight on the stream 
At length awoke me from my fairy dream. 

S Ah ! happy days, too happy to return, 

Fled on the wings of youth's departed years, 
A bitter lesson ha-s been mine to learn. 

The truth of life, its labors, pains, and fears ; 
Yet does the memory of my boyhood stay, 
10 A twilight of the brightness passed away. 

My thoughts steal back to that sweet village still; 
Its flowers and peaceful shades before me rise ; 
The play-place and the prospect from the hill. 
Its summer verdure, and autumnal dyes ; 
15 The present brings its storms ; but, while they last, 
I shelter me in the delightful past 



LESSON CXXVI. THE PRESS. JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM:. 

Look abroad, over the face of this vast and almost illim- 
itable continent, and behold multitudes which no man can 
number, impatient of the slow process of education, wrest- 
ling with the powers of nature, and the obstructions of 
S accident, and, like the patriarch, refusing to let go their 
hold, till the day break, and they receive the promised 
blessing, and the recompense of the struggle. 

You will perceive, too, in the remotest corners, where 
civilization has planted her standard, that there the Press, the 

10 mightiest engine, ever yet invented by the genius of man, 
is producing a moral revolution, on a scale of grandeur 
and magnificence, unknown to all former generations. By 
it, information of every transaction of government, and of 
all important occurrences, in the four quarters of the world, 

15 is transmitted with a degree of speed and regularity, that 
the most sagacious could not have foreseen, nor the most 
enthusiastic have dared to hope for, fifty years ago. By 
the Press, every cottage is supplied with its newspaper, 
and elementary books, in the most useful sciences ; and 

20 every cradle is supplied with tracts and toy-books, to teach 
the infant to lisp lessons of wisdom and piety, long before 
his mind has power to conceive, or firmness to retain, their 
meaning. 

The power of this engine, in the moral and intellectual 



266 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

universe, is inconceivable. There is no ordinary operation 
of the physical elements, to which its mighty influence can 
be compared. We can find, only in the visions of the 
apocalyptic saint, a parallel to its tremendous action. 
5 Guided by truth and reason, like the sound of the seventh 
trumpet, it opens the temple of God in heaven, and shows 
to the eye of the faithful and regenerated spirit, within 
the veil of that temple, in the presence-chamber of the 
Almighty, the ark of his testament. Controlled by false- 

10 hood and fraud, its force, like the opening of the sixth seal 
of the mystic volume, produces earthquakes, turns the sun 
to sackcloth, and the moon to blood, moves every moun- 
tain and island out of their places, and causes even the 
heaven we hope for, to depart as a scroll, when it is rolled 

15 together. 

LESSON CXXVII. MOUNT AUBURN. ^NEHEMIAH ADAMS. 

There is a spot within a few miles of Boston, which is 
destined to be distinguished as a burying-place. " Sweet 
Auburn " was familiarly known as a place of favorite re- 
sort ; its shady and intricate retreats, affording opportunity 
5 for social or solitary rambles, and its botanic richness a 
field for pastime and study. The place has been purchased 
by an Association, and consecrated as a cemetery, with the 
name of Mount Auburn. 

Its distant appearance was formerly better than at pres- 

10 ent, many of the trees now being removed. It looked like 
a large mound rather than a hill, its central elevation 
being surrounded by deep glens and valleys, whose tree 
tops preserved a regular ascent, and reduced the otherwise 
prominent height of the centre to the slope of a large 

15 dome. It always seemed as though it were destined to 
some important and solemn use. 

From the bridge across Charles river, in Cambridge, at 
sunset, when the horizontal light rayed into it, and the 
glowing western sky showed in relief the quick motion of 

20 the leaves in the fresh evening air, it has appeared like a 
solemn and mournful place, enlivened, against its will, 
by the voices and joy of a multitude, and showing, as it 
assumed its natural shades, that it was of a melancholy 
and sorrowing spirit. 

25 Now, its dense woods are thinned; and, from the com- 
mon road to the place, and, within a fraction of a mile, 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 257 

where the last house on the left leaves the view unhroken, 
you see a large white object, with a black centre, peering 
out from the side of a hill ; the nature and object of which 
a stranger is not at a loss to know, as the Egyptian Portal 
5 of the grounds, appearing before him with its inscription, 
" Then shall the dust return *to the earth as it was ; and 
the spirit shall return to God who gave it." 

There has been a large number of avenues and paths 
laid through the place. The paths wind through romantic 

10 recesses. It was with a peculiar sensation that we walked 
through the place, when the avenues were first made. It 
was like viewing a great, but mournful conquest. Man 
had invaded a hitherto sacred and safe retreat ; and the 
axe and plough-share had let in the common sun. The 

15 turf had just been removed from the ways, exposing a 
glebe made rich by the decay of a thousand autumns. 

The robins were rejoicing over a strange supply of food. 
The sound of the workman's implements, from different 
parts of the place, showed that " Sweet Auburn " was no 

20 longer a safe retreat; and the sudden appearance of a 
trench, with blocks of granite near, and other preparations 
for a tomb, made known the change that had taken place 
in the character of this beautiful retirement. 



LESSON CXXVIIJ. TRYING TO PLEASE. EDWARD T. CHANNING. 

We know, that it is difficult to draw the line between 
good social dispositions and actions generally, and a sickly 
regard to false exactions ; and to avoid useless discrimina- 
tions, we shall venture to say, that we dislike much of the 
5 current language on the subject of pleasing. We dislike 
the phrase, "trying to please." It is deceptive, and the 
practice itself leads to effeminacy or fraud. It puts men 
in wrong positions towards each other. 

To shun giving needless offence is one thing, and most 
10 important. This passive good-will or negative benevo- 
lence is not sustained without effort ; and, as it is little 
noticed by those whom it spares, it is likely to be disinter- 
ested, and can scarcely do harm to either party. 

Then, again, to give innocent pleasure to others by 

15 active efforts and personal sacrifices in their behalf, is safe 

for all concerned. And to gratify our friends by our moral 

excellence and high reputation, is a natural reward, though 

we should not propose it as the object, of virtuous action. 

22=»«= 



258 AMERICAK COMMON-SCHOOL [PART Ih 

And undoubtedly our customary civilities and attentions 
are in part designed to give pleasure. 

But Chesterfield's "passionate desire of pleasing every- 
body," this endeavoring so to adapt ourselves to the dispo- 
5 sitions of others, that admiration and gratitude shall beam 
upon us whenever we appear, and our very persons become 
idols, is not the prompting or expression of benevolence ; 
and it is foreign to the true spirit and purpose of civility. 
There is selfishness on both sides, and mutual mischief. 

10 Men have no right to such a show of devotion, and we 
have no right to offer it. 

We are not placed here, solely or chiefly, to please or to 
be pleased, even in the best sense that we can give to these 
terms ; but to be good and to do good. And, so far as 

15 manners promote these objects, let them be cultivated with 
enthusiasm, as virtues; and, so far as they then give 
pleasure, they yield a natural fruit. 



LESSON CXXIX. DEFENCE OF CHARLES GREENLEAF. 

G. S. HILLARD. 

Gentlemen, it is time for me to bring my remarks to a 
close. I believe that I have left no point unurged, which 
may be presented to you in an aspect favorable to the pris- 
oner ; and he now awaits your merciful consideration. 
5 I presume that no advocate, in a capital cause, was ever 
satisfied with his efforts, in his client's behalf; who did not 
feel, or fancy, on a sober re-consideration of his argument, 
that he might have done better. I am prepared to be dis- 
turbed by this reflection hereafter ; and, if so, I must draw 

10 what comfort I can, from that, I now feel, — that I have 
done what I could. 

I have endeavored to argue this cause fairly. I am not 
conscious of having mis-stated the facts in evidence, or 
laid down the law incorrectly ; and if I have, I shall be 

15 sure to hear of it, before the case is through. In such 
cases, however, there is no great difference, between what 
can be accomplished by the highest or the humblest facul- 
ties. The prisoner is saved, if at all, by the law and facts; 
and by these, and these alone, do I solicit ray client's 

20 acquittal. If I have failed, or been wanting, let them speak 
for me, and make up for my deficiencies. 

There is another class of considerations, in this case, 
which miofht be urofed, — another class of emotions which 



PART n.] READEH AND SPEAKER. 259 

might be addressed in my client's behalf. In countries, 
where the passions have a more predominating sway, 
where the organization of man is more excitable, and his 
blood more easily stirred, an advocate would not omit to 
5 urge these considerations, — to appeal to these sensibilities. 
I might speak to you of the gloom which an unfavora- 
ble verdict will spread among a large circle of friends and 
relatives, of the anguish of his heart-broken wife, of the 
withering blight which will fall upon his innocent children, 

10 of the deep, unmoving shadow which will settle upon his 
once cheerful hearth. 

But that stern fibre, which the mind and character de- 
rives from our northern skies, rebukes such attempts, and 
ensures their failure, if made. Such chords, if skilfully 

15 struck, will tremble and vibrate for a moment, but will not 
draw the judgment from its place. Justice is deaf, passion- 
less, inexorable. Upon the guilty head, the great axe must 
fall, no matter what chords of love it severs in its sweep. 
But, of these considerations, I may make a legitimate 

20 use. From them I may deepen the earnestness, with which 
I adjure you to deal with this case wisely, soberly, con- 
scientiously, with the best faculties of your minds, and the 
brightest effluence of your moral sense. Judge it merci- 
fully, as you would be judged, when the verdict is to pass 

25 upon your lives. Give to the prisoner all that you can, 
not inconsistent with the claims of truth, not repugnant to 
the solemn sanctions of your oath. 

By all that makes life sweet to you, take not his away 
lightly. By that good name which is the immediate jewel 

30 of your souls, by the tranquil satisfaction of regular and 
successful industry, by the sustaining sympathy of your 
friends, by the sunshine that beams from old familiar faces, 
by the sweet charities of domestic life, by the kisses of 
your children, which perhaps are warm upon your lips, 

35 close not the gates of mercy against your brother man, 
unless driven by that awful voice of duty, before which all 
earthly considerations must ever give way. 



LESSON CXXX. THE GENIUS OF ARISTOPHANES. C. C. FELTON. 

The greatness of the genius of Aristophanes, is not 
generally appreciated. The value of his comedies, as 
illustrations of the political antiquities, the life, morals, and 
manners of Athens, is not fully understood. The truth is, 




260 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART II. 

we are indebted to him for information upon the working 
of the Attic institutions, which, had all his plays been lost, 
we should have vainly sought for in the Avorks of other 
authors. With what boldness and vigor does he sketch 
5 that many-headed despot, the Demos of Athens ; with 
what austere truth, does he draw the character of the 
Athenian Demagogue, and, in him, the Demagogue of all 
times; how many rays of light are poured from his com- 
edies, upon the popular and judicial tribunals, — the assem- 

10 blies in the Pnyx, the Senate, and the Heliastic courts ! 

No intelligent reader can doubt, that Aristophanes was 
a man of the most profound acquaintance with the politi- 
cal institutions of his age ; no reader of poetic fancy can 
fail to see that he possessed an extraordinary creative 

15 genius. It is impossible to study his works attentively, 
without feeling that his was the master mind of the Attic 
drama. The brightest flashes of a high poetical spirit, are 
constantly breaking out, from the midst of the broadest 
merriment, and the sharpest satire. An imagination of 

20 endless variety and strength, enlivens those lyrical passages 
which gem his works, and are among the most precious 
brilliants of the Greek language. In the drawing of char- 
acters, his plays exhibit consummate skill. The clearness 
of his conceptions, the precision of his outlines, the con- 

25 sistency with which his personages are throughout main- 
tained, cannot fail to impress the reader, with the perfec- 
tion of his judgment, and the masterly management of the 
resources of his art. 

He had the inestimable advantage, too, of writing in a 

30 language which is undoubtedly the highest attainment of 
human speech ; and all the rich varieties and harmonies 
of this wondrous instrument, he held at his supreme com- 
mand. Its flexibility, under his shaping hand, is almost 
miraculous. At one moment, he is revelling in the wildest 

35 mirth, and the next, he is sweeping through the loftiest 
region of lyrical inspiration ; but the language never breaks 
down under his adventurous flight. The very words he 
wants, come, like beings instinct with life, and fall into 
their proper places, at his bidding. His wit is as manifold 

40 and startling, as the myriad-minded Shakspeare's. Indeed, 
although these great men stood two thousand years apart, 
and moved in widely differing spheres of poetical activity, 
still many striking points of resemblance exist between the 
genius of the English, and of the Grecian bard. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 261 

LESSON CXXXI. RESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICANS. 

E. S. GANNETT. 

The Christian world is passing through a momentous 
crisis. A struggle has begun, such as the kingdoms of 
Europe have never before known. The elements of revo- 
lution no longer slumber in any one of them. Ever and 
5 anon, they break forth in tumult and bloodshed. Smoth- 
ered, they are not idle ; pent up in the confinement which 
sovereigns impose on them, they are but accumulating 
strength for new eruptions. Two parties exist throughout 
all the states of Europe, with the exception perhaps of 

10 imperial Russia, — the popular party, and the party that 
support old institutions, either because they know that, if 
these fall; they shall be buried in -the ruins, or because 
habit has so accustomed them to subjection, that they feel 
no wish to part with their chains. 

15 The cause of freedom, of human rights, and the world's 
improvement, depends on the fidelity of the popular party 
to the principles which they have undertaken to sustain. 
A fearful contest must ensue, with reciprocal defeat, and 
mutual obstinacy. If the popular party should prevail, it 

20 can only be after long and desperate efforts, under which 
they will need every encouragement. With this party, 
our sympathies are inseparably linked. From our exam- 
ple, came the first ray that penetrated the darkness, from 
which they have awoke. Under its steady influence, they 

25 hope to press on to the accomplishment of their wishes. 
If its aspect should be changed, their disappointment would 
be severe, it might be fatal. 

The eyes of Europe are upon us ; the monarch, from his 
throne, watches us with an angry countenance ; the peas- 

30 ant turns his gaze on us, with joyful faith ; the writers, on 
politics, quote our condition, as a proof of the possibility 
of popular government; the heroes of freedom animate 
their followers, by reminding them of our success. At no 
moment of the last half century, has it been so important, 

35 that we should send up a clear and strong light which may 
be seen across the Atlantic. An awful charge of unfaith- 
fulness to the interests of mankind, will be recorded against 
us, if we suffer this light to be obscured, by the mingling 
vapors of passion, and misrule, and sin. 

40 But not Europe, alone, will be influenced by the charac- 
ter we give to our destiny. The republics of the south 
have no other guide towards the establishment of order 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART II. 

and freedom, than our example. If this should fail them, 
the last stay would be torn from their hope. We are 
placed under a most solemn obligation, to keep before them 
this motive to perseverance, in their endeavors to place 
5 free institutions on a sure basis. Shall we leave those 
wide regions to despair and anarchy ? Better that they 
had patiently borne a foreign yoke, though it bowed their 
necks to the ground. 

Citizens of the United States, it has been said of us, 

10 with truth, that we are at the head of the popular party of 
the world. Shall we be ashamed of so glorious a rank ? 
or shall we basely desert our place, and throw away our 
distinction? Forbid it, self-respect, patriotism, philan- 
thropy ! Christians, we believe that God has made us a 

15 name and a praise, among the nations. We believe that 
our religion yields its best fruits in a free land. Shall we 
be regardless of our duty, as creatures of the Divine Power, 
and recipients of his goodness ? Shall we be indifferent 
to the effects which our religion may work in the world ? 

20 Forbid it our gratitude, our faith, our piety ! 

In one way only, can we discharge our duty to the rest 
of mankind ; by the purity and elevation of character that 
shall distinguish us as a people. If we sink into luxury, 
vice, or moral apathy, our brightness will be lost, our 

25 prosperity deprived of its vital element; and we shall 
appear disgraced before man, guilty before God. 



LESSON CXXXII. ^THE BIO C KING-BIRD. ALEXANDER WILSON. 

The plumage of the mocking-bird, though none of the 

homeliest, has nothing gaudy or brilliant in it ; and, had 

he nothing else to recommend him, would scarcely entitle 

him to notice ; but his figure is well-proportioned, and 

5 even handsome. The ease, elegance, and rapidity of his 

movements, the animation of his eye, and the intelligence 

he displays in listening, and laying up lessons from almost 

. every species of the feathered creation within his hearing, 

are really surprising, and mark the peculiarity of his 

10 genius. 

To these qualities, we may add that of a voice full, 
strong, and musical, and capable of almost every modula- 
tion, from the clear, mellow tones of the wood-thrush, to 
the savage screams of the bald eagle. In measure and 
15 accent, he faithfully follows his originals. In force and 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 263 

sweetness of expression, he greatly improves upon them. 
In his native groves, mounted upon the top of a tall bush, or 
half-grown tree, in the dawn of a dewy morning, while 
the woods are already vocal with a multitude of warblers, 
5 his admirable song rises preeminent over every com- 
petitor. 

The ear can listen to his music alone, to which that of 
all the others seems a mere accompaniment. Neither is 
this strain altogether imitative. His own native notes, 

10 which are easily distinguishable by such as are acquainted 
with those of our various song birds, are bold and full, 
and varied seemingly beyond all limits. They consist of 
short expressions of two, three, or, at the most, five or six 
syllables, generally interspersed with imitations, and all 

15 of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity, and 
continued with undiminished ardor, for half an hour, or 
an hour, at a time ; his expanded wings and tail, glisten- 
ing with white, and the buoyant gaiety of his action, 
arresting the eye, as his song most irresistibly does the 

20 ear. He sweeps round with enthusiastic ecstasy. He 
mounts and descends, as his song swells, or dies away ; 
and,, as my friend, Mr. Bartram, has beautifully expressed 
it, "he bounds aloft with the celerity of an arrow, as if to 
recover or recall his very soul, which expired in the last 

25 elevated strain." 

While thus exerting himself, a bystander, destitute of 
sight, would suppose that the whole feathered tribe had 
assembled together, on a trial of skill, each striving to 
produce his utmost effect :— so perfect are his imitations. 

30 He many times deceives the sportsman, and sends him in 
search of birds that perhaps are not within miles of him, 
but whose notes he exactly imitates. Even birds them- 
selves are frequently imposed on, by this admirable 
mimic, and are decoyed, by the fancied calls of their 

35 mates; or dive with precipitation into the depths of 
thickets, at the scream of what they suppose to be the 
sparrow-hawk. 

LESSON CXXXIIl. THE EUROPEAN AND THE AMERICAN NA- 
TIONS. DANIEL WEBSTER. 

In many respects, the European and the American 
nations are alike. They are alike Christian states, civil- 
ized states, and commercial states. They have access to 
^ the same common fountains of intelligence ; they all draw 



264 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 



from those sources which belong to the whole civilized 
world. In knowledge and letters, — in the arts of peace 
and war, — they differ in degrees ; but they bear, never- 
theless, a general resemblance. 
5 On the other hand, in matters of government and social 
institution, the nations on this continent are founded upon 
principles which never did prevail, in considerable extent, 
either at any other time, or in any other place. There 
has never been presented, to the mind of man, a more 

10 interesting subject of contemplation, than the establish- 
ment of so many nations in America, partaking in the 
civilization, and in the arts of the old world, but having 
left behind them those cumbrous institutions which had 
their origin in a dark and military age. 

15 Whatsoever European experience has developed, favor- 
able to the freedom and the happiness of man ; whatso- 
ever European genius has invented for his improvement 
or gratification ; whatsoever of refinement or polish, the 
culture of European society presents, for his adoption and 

20 enjoyment, — all this is offered to man in America, with 
the additional advantages of the full power of erecting 
forms of government on free and simple principles, with- 
out overturning institutions suited to times long passed, 
but too strongly supported, either by interests or preju- 

25 dices, to be shaken without convulsions. 

This unprecedented state of things, presents the hap- 
piest of all occasions for an attempt to establish national 
intercourse upon improved principles ; upon principles 
tending to peace and the mutual prosperity of nations. 

30 In this respect, America, the whole of America, has a 
new career before her. If we look back on the history of 
Europe, we see how great a portion of the last two cen- 
turies, her states have been at war, for interests connected 
mainly with her feudal monarchies ; wars, for particular 

35 dynasties ; wars, to support or defeat particular succes- 
sions ; wars, to enlarge or curtail the dominions of par- 
ticular crowns ; wars, to support or to dissolve family 
alliances ; wars, in fine, to enforce or to resist religious 
intolerance. What long and bloody chapters do these 

40 not fill, in the history of European politics ! 

Who does not see, and who does not rejoice to see, 
that America has a glorious chance of escaping, at least, 
these causes of contention ? Who does not see, and who 
does not rejoice to see, that, on this continent, under other 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 265 

forms of government, we have before us the noble hope 
of being able, by the mere influence of civil liberty and 
religious toleration, to dry up these outpouring fountains 
of blood, and to extinguish these consuming fires of war ? 
6 The general opinion of the age, favors such hopes and 
such prospects. There is a growing disposition to treat 
the intercourse of nations more like the useful intercourse 
of friends : philosophy, — ^just views of national advantage, 
good sense, and the dictates of a common religion, and an 
10 increasing conviction that war is not the interest of the 
human race, — all concur to increase the interest created 
by this new accession to the list of nations. 



LESSON CXXXIV. THE TIMES, THE MANNERS, AND THE MEN. 

J. R. LOWELL. 

New times demand new measures and new men ; 

The world advances, and in time outgrows 

The laws that in our fathers' day were best ; 

And, doubtless, after us, some purer scheme 
5 Will be shaped out by wiser men than we, 

Made wiser by the steady growth of truth. 

We cannot bring Utopia at once ; 

But better almost be at work in sin. 

Than in a brute inaction browse and sleep. 
10 No man is born into the world, whose work 

Is not born with him ; there is always work, 

And tools to work withal, for those who will ; 

And blessed are the horny hands of toil ! 

The busy world shoves angrily aside 
15 The man who stands with arms akimbo set, 

Until occasion tells him what to do ; 

And he who waits to have his task marked out. 

Shall die and leave his errand unfulfilled. 

Our time is one that calls for earnest deeds. 
20 Reason and Government, like two broad seas, 

Yearn for each other, with outstretched arms 

Across this narrow isthmus of the throne. 

And roll their white surf higher every day. 

The field lies wide before us, where to reap 
25 The easy harvest of a deathless name. 

Though with no better sickles than our swords. 

My soul is not a palace of the past, 
23 



266 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART n. 



Where outworn creeds, like Rome's grey senate, quake. 

Hearing afar the Vandal's trumpet hoarse, 

That shakes old systems with a thunder-fit. 

The time is ripe, and rotten-ripe for change : 
5 Then let it come. I have no dread of what 

Is called for by the instinct of mankind. 

Nor think I that God's world will fall apart 

Because we tear a parchment more or less. 

Truth is eternal, but her effluence, 
10 With endless change, is fitted to the hour ; 

Her mirror is turned forward, to reflect 

The promise of the future, not the past. 

I do not fear to follow out the truth, 

Albeit along the precipice's edge. 
15 Let us speak plain : there is more force in names 

Than most men dream of; and a lie may keep 

Its throne a whole age longer, if it skulk 

Behind the shield of some fair seeming name. 

Let us call tyrants tyrants, and maintain 
20 That only freedom comes by grace of God, 

And all that comes not by His grace must fall ; 

For men in earnest have no time to waste 

In patching fig-leaves for the naked truth. 



% 



LESSON CXXXV. LIBERTY TO ATHENS. JAMES G. PERCIVAL. 

The flag of freedom floats once more 

Around the lofty Parthenon ; 
It waves, as waved the palm of yore, 

In days departed long and gone ; 
5 As bright a glory from the skies. 

Pours down its light around those towers. 
And once again the Greeks arise. 

As in their country's noblest hours ; 
Their swords are girt in virtue's cause, 
10 Minerva's sacred hill is free, — 

Oh ! may she keep her equal laws, 

While man shall live, and time shall be ! 

The pride of all her shrines went down ; 
The Goth, the Frank, the Turk had reft 
15 The laurel from her civic crown ;• 

Her helm by many a sword was cleft :- 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 267 

She lay among her ruins low, — • 

Where grew the palm, the cypress rose, 

And, crushed and bruised by many a blow, 
5 She cowered beneath her savage foes ; 

But now, again she springs from earth. 
Her loud, awakening trumpet speaks ; 

She rises in a brighter birth. 

And sounds redemption to the Greeks. 

10 It is the classic jubilee, — 

Their servile years have rolled away ; 
The clouds that hovered o'er them flee. 

They hail the dawn of freedom's day ; 
From Heaven the golden light descends, 
15 The times of old are on the wing. 

And glory there her pinion bends. 

And beauty wakes a fairer spring ; 
The hills of Greece, her rocks, her waves, 
Are all in triumph's pomp arrayed ; 
20 A light that points their tyrants' graves. 

Plays round each bold Athenian's blade. 



LESSON CXXXVI. THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 

H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; 

But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles the villagers with strange alarms. 

5 Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, 
When the Death-Angel touches those swift keys ! 
What loud lament and dismal Miserere 
Will mingle with their awful symphonies ! 

I hear, even now, the infinite fierce chorus, 
10 The cries of agony, the endless groan, — 

Which, through the ages that have gone before us, 
In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer. 
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, 
15 And loud amid the universal clamor. 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART M» 

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din, 

And Aztec priests, upon their teocallis, 

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin. 

5 The tumult of each sacked and burning village ; 

The shout, that every prayer for mercy drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage, 
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ! 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, 
10 The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ; 
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 
The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, 
With such accursed instruments as these, 
15 Thou drownest nature's sweet and kindly voices, 
And jarrest the celestial harmonies ? 

Were half the power that fills the world with terror, 

Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, 
Given to redeem the human mind from error, 
20 There were no need of arsenals and forts. 

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ! 

And every nation that should lift again 
Its hand against its brother, on its forehead 

Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain ! 

25 Down the dark future, through long generations, 

The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease ; 
And, like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 

I hear once more the voice of Christ say, " Peace !" 

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals 
30 The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! 
But beautiful as songs of the immortals. 
The holy melodies of Love arise. 



LESSON CXXXVII. IMMORTALITY. RICHARD H. DANA, SEN. 

Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then, Love ? 
And doth Death cancel the great bond that holds 
Commingling spirits ? Are thoughts that know no bounds, 
But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out 
I The Eternal Mind, — the Father of all thought, — 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 269 

Are they become mere tenants of a tomb ? — 
Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms 
Of uncreated light have visited, and lived ? — 
Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne, 
5 Which One, with gentle hand, the veil of flesh 
Lifting, that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed 
In glory ? — throne, before which, even now, 
Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down, 
Rejoicing, yet at their own natures awed ? 
10 Souls, that Thee know by a mysterious sense, 

Thou awful, unseen Presence ! are they quenched? 
Or burn they on, hid from our mortal eyes 
By that bright day which ends not ; as the sun 
His robe of light flings round the glittering stars ? 

15 And with our frames do perish all our loves ? 
Do those that took their root, and put forth buds, 
And their soft leaves unfolded, in the warmth 
Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty. 
Then fade and fall, like fair unconscious flowers ? 

20 Are thoughts and passions, that to the tongue give speech, 
And make it send forth winning harmonies, — 
That to the cheek do give its living glow, 
And vision in the eye the soul intense 
With that for which there is no utterance, — 

25 Are these the body's accidents ? — no more ? — 
To live in it, and, when that dies, go out 
Like the burnt taper's flame ? 

Oh ! listen, man ! 
A voice within us speaks that startling word, 

30 "Man, thou shalt never die !" Celestial voices 
Hymn it unto our souls ; according harps, 
By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars 
Of morning sang together, sound forth still 
The song of our great immortality : 

35 Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, 
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, 
Join in this solemn, universal song. 
Oh ! listen, ye, our spirits ; drink it in 
From all the air. 'T is in the gentle moonlight ; 

40 'T is floating midst Day's setting glories ; Night, 
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step 
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears : 
Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve, 
23^ 



270 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART M. 

All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, 
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched 
By an unseen, livirlg Hand, and conscious chords 
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee. 

5 The dying hear it ; and, as sounds of earth 
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls 
To mingle in this heavenly harmony. 

LESSON CXXXVm. THE GRAY OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN.— 

HARRY HIBBARD. 
[A Natural Image in Franconia Mountain Notch.] 

Where a tall post beside the road displays 
Its lettered arm, pointing the traveller's eye, 
Through the small opening mid the green birch trees, 
Toward yonder mountain summit towering high, 

6 There pause. What doth thy anxious gaze espy ? 
A crag abrupt hung from the mountain's brow ! 
Look closer ! scan that bare sharp cliff on high; 
Aha ! the wondrous shape bursts on thee now ! 

A perfect human face, — neck, chin, mouth, nose, and brow ! 

10 And full and plain those features are displayed. 

Thus profiled forth against the clear blue sky ; 

As though some sculptor's chisel here had made 

This fragment of colossal imagery, 

The compass of his plastic art to try. 
15 From the curved neck up to the shaggy hair 

That shoots on pine trees from the head on high. 

All, all is perfect : no illusions there 
To cheat the expecting eye with fancied forms of air ! 

Most wondrous vision ! the broad earth hath not, 
20 Through all her bounds, an object like to thee. 

That traveller e'er recorded, nor a spot 

More fit to stir the poet's phantasy. 

Gray Old Man of the Mountain, awfully 

There from thy wreath of clouds thou dost uprear 
25 Those features grand, the same eternally ! 

Lone dweller mid the hills ! with gaze austere 
Thou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here ! 

And curious travellers have descried the trace 
Of the sage Franklin's physiognomy 
30 In that most grave and philosophic face. 
If it be true, Old Man, that we do see 
Sa^e Franklin's countenance, thou indeed must be 



-i 



PART ll.j READER AND SPEAKER. f 7^ 

A learned philosopher most wise and staid, 
From all that thou hast had a chance to see, 
Since Earth began. Here thou, too, oft hast played 
With lightnings, glancing round thy rugged head. 



LESSON CXXXIX.— THE NOVEL READER. CHARLES SPRAGUE. 

Look now, directed by yon candle's blaze. 
Where the false shutter half its trust betrays, — 
Mark that fair girl, reclining in her bed, 
Its curtain round her polished shoulders spread : 
5 Dark midnight reigns, the storm is up in power ; 
What keeps her waking in that dreary hour ? 
See where the volume on her pillow lies, — 
Claims Radcliffe or Chapone those frequent sighs ? 
'T is some wild legend, — now her kind eye fills, 

10 And now cold terror every fibre chills ; 

Still she reads on, — in fiction's labyrinth lost, 
Of tyrant fathers, and of true love crossed : 
Of clanking fetters, low, mysterious groans. 
Blood-crusted daggers, and uncoffined bones, 

15 Pale, gliding ghosts, with fingers dropping gore, 

And blue flames dancing round a dungeon door ; — 
Still she reads on, — even though to read she fears, 
And in each key-hole moan strange voices hears. 
While every shadow that withdraws her look, 

20 Glares in her face the goblin of her book ; 
Still o'er the leaves her craving eye is cast ; 
On all she feasts, yet hungers for the last ; 
Counts what remain, now sighs there are no more, 
And now even those half tempted to skip o'er ; 

25 At length, the bad all killed, the good all pleased, 
Her thirsting curiosity appeased, 
She shuts the dear, dear book, that made her weep, 
Puts out the light, and turns away to sleep. 



LESSON CXL. MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. ISAAC HILL. 

The highest mountains, within the known limits of the 
old thirteen United States, are the cluster in New Hamp- 
shire, called the White Mountains. These mountains are 
supposed to be older than any of the ranges of high 
mountains in Europe. Mont Blanc, and Mont St. Ber- 
nard, may peer above them, and reach their tops beyond 



272 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT 11. 

the line of perpetual congelation ; but Mount Washington 
had been thousands of years 'in existence, before the inter- 
nal fires upheaved the European Alps. 

The beauty and grandeur of scenery in Scotland, or 
5 Switzerland, or any other country of Europe, cannot 
exceed that of this mountain region. What magnificent 
landscape will compare with the different views at the 
Notch ; — with the Silver Cascade, half a mile from its 
entrance, issuing from the mountain eight hundred feet 

10 above the subjacent valley, passing over, almost perpen- 
dicularly, a series of rocks so little broken, as to preserve 
the appearance of a uniform current, and yet so far dis- 
turbed, as to be perfectly white ; — with the Flume, at no 
great distance, falling over three precipices, from the 

15 height of two hundred and fifty feet, down the two first in a 
single current, and over the last in three, uniting again at 
the bottom in a basin, formed by the hand of Nature, per- 
haps by the wearing of the waters, in the rocks ; — with the 
impending rocks, directly overhead on either side, to a vast 

20 height, rent asunder by that Power which first upheaved 
the mountains, leaving barely space for the head stream 
of the Saco, and the road to pass ; — with the track of the 
awful avalanches, at no great distance, on either side, 
coming down from the height, throwing rocks, trees, and 

25 earth across the defile, damming up the stream, and forc- 
ing it to seek new channels, and covering up or carrying 
aw^ay, clean to the surface of the hard rock, the long 
travelled road ! 

If the eye is not here sated, with the grandeur and 

80 beauty of the stupendous works of the Almighty, and the 

changes he has wrought, let the traveller pass into the 

Franconia Notch, near tbe source of the Merrimack river, 

twenty miles southerly of the White Mountain Notch. 

The Man of the Mountain has long been personated 

35 and apostrophized ; his covered head is the sure forerun- 
ner of the thunder shower or storm ; and, in the world of 
fiction, he is made the main agent of the mountain genii, 
who bewilder and mislead the benighted traveller, and 
whose lodgment is in the rocky caverns, hitherto unfre- 

40 quented by the human tread. The Profile is perched at 
the height of more than a thousand feet : the solid rock 
presents a side view or profile of the human face, every 
feature of which, in the due proportion, is conspicuous. 
It is no inanimate profile : it looks the living man, as if 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. ^7p 

his voice could reach to the proportionate distance of his 
greater size. 

The mountain region of New Hampshire, has been 
denominated the Switzerland of America. Our scenery 
5 is surpassed, in beauty, by no scenery on earth. Coming 
down from our mountains, I would direct your attention 
to our beautiful lakes. The eye never traced a niore 
splendid prospect, than the view from Red Hill. The 
view from Mount Washington, shows the high moun- 

10 tains around, as successive dark waves of the sea, at your 
feet, and all other objects, the villages and the sea, as more 
indistinct from their distance. 

The view from Red Hill, an elevation of some twenty- 
five hundred feet, which is gained on horseback, brings 

15 all objects distinctly to the naked eye. On the one hand, 
the Winnipiseogee lake, twenty-two miles in length, with 
its bays, and islands, and surrounding villages, and farms 
of parti-colored fields, spreads out like a field of glass, at 
the southeast. Loch Lomond, with all its splendor and 

20 beauty, presents no scenery that is not equalled in the 
environs of the Winnipiseogee. Its suite of hills and 
mountains, serves as a contrast, to increase its splendor. 
We stand upon the higher of the three points of Red Hill, 
limited everywhere by regular circular lines, and elegant 

25 in its figure beyond most other mountains. The autum- 
nal foliage, overspreading the ranges of mountains, in the 
season after vegetation has been arrested by the frosts, is 
a beauty in our scenery that has never been described 
by any inhabitant of Great Britain, because no such 

30 scenery ever there existed. 

If Mr. Jefferson thought a single point upon the Poto- 
mac, where that river breaks through the Blue Ridge, to 
be worth, to the European observer, a voyage across the 
Atlantic, will it be deemed extravagant, if I should say to 

35 the inhabitants of a town or city of the United States, any- 
where along thr Atlantic Ocean, that the Notch of the 
White Hills, the Notch of the Franconia mountains, the 
Cascade, or the Flume, or the Face of the Old Man, or 
the view from Red Hill, one alone, or all together, are 

40 worth ten times the expense and labor of a journey of one 
hundred, five hundred, or one thousand miles ? 



II 




274 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

LESSON CXLL LOCAL ASSOCIATIONS.' — HARRISON GRAY OTIS. 

1 

Among all the objects of mental association, ancient 

buildings and ruins affect us with the deepest and most : 

vivid emotions. They were the Avorks of beings like | 

ourselves. While a mist, impervious to mortal view, ! 

5 hangs over the future, all our fond imaginings of the I 

things, which "eye hath not seen nor ear heard," in the i 

eternity to come, are inevitably associated with the men, j 

the events and things, which have gone to join the eter- s 

nity that is past. \ 

10 When imagination has in vain essayed to rise beyond a 

the stars, which "proclaim the story of their birth," inquis- \ 

itive to know the occupations and condition of the sages \ 

and heroes, whom we hope to join in a higher empyrean, j 

she drops her weary wing, and is compelled to alight \ 

15 among the fragments of "gorgeous palaces and cloud- 1 

capped towers," which cover their human ruins, and, by ] 

aid of these localities, to ruminate upon their virtues, and j 

their faults, on their deeds in the cabinet, and in the field, I 

and upon the revolutions of the successive ages in which , 

20 they lived. To this propensity may be traced the subli- 5 
mated feelings of the man, who, familiar with the stories 

of Sesostris, the Pharaohs, and the Ptolemies, surveys the ! 

pyramids, not merely as stupendous fabrics of mechanical \ 
skill, but as monuments of the pride and ambitious folly 

25 of kings, and of the debasement and oppression of the t 

wretched myriads, by whose labors they were raised to ' 

the skies. To this must be referred the awe and contri- ! 

tion, which solemnize and melt the heart of the Christian, { 

who looks into the holy sepulchre, and believes he sees \ 

30 the place where the Lord was laid. 

From this originate the musings of the scholar, who, j 
amid the ruins of the Parthenon and the Acropolis, trans- 
ports his imagination to the age of Pericles and Phidias ; 
— the reflections of all, not dead to sentiment, who 

35 descend to the subterranean habitations of Pompeii, — 
handle the utensils that once ministered to the wants, and 

the ornaments subservient to the luxury, of a polished j 

city, — behold the rut of wheels upon the pavement hidden i 

for ages from human sight, — and realize the awful hour, j 

40 when the hum of industry, and the song of joy, the wail- 
ing of the infant, and the garrulity of age, were suddenly 



PAET II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 275 

and forever silenced by the fiery deluge, which buried the 
city, until accident and industry, after the lapse of nearly 
eighteen centuries, revealed its ruins to the curiosity and 
cupidity of the passing age. 



LESSON CXLII. THE REPRESENTATIVE. AuonymoUS. 

\Mr, Sittingbourn, the representative, is seated at break- 
fast.] Enter Mist. 
Mist. Sir, I ought to apologize for breaking in upon 
you, at what I dare say you consider an early hour of the 
morning ; but I could not help it. I was prompted to it, — 
moved to it, as I may say, — by reading your speech of 
5 Tuesday night. Why, sir, you are going to vote for the 
appropriation of the funds of the Protestant Church, for 
the education of Roman Catholics ! 

Sittingbourn. Yes, yes ; I think, and, what is more 
important, perhaps, — those with whom I act, think that 
10 course advisable, and I — 

Mist. " Advisable ! " Sir, it is destructive ; — it is the 
beginning of all evil, — the very germ of ruin ! 
Sltt. Sir, I am pledged to my party. 
Mist. I know nothing of party, sir, — I am no party 
15 man ; but you will be pleased to regulate your conduct 
by the feelings and instructions of your constituents ; and 
I, for one, protest against the admission of a principle 
likely to overrun the country with Papists, and bring us 
to as bad a state as that to which our wretched ancestors 
20 were reduced in the days of bloody Mary, or the more 
recent misrule of Charles the First. [Enter Cross.] 

Sitt. Well, Mr. Cross, what are your commands ? We 
are all in the same boat ; you may speak before your 
friend, Mr. Mist. 
25 Cross. Well, sir, I am sure if you have no objection, I 
can have none ; but I have come up upon an unpleasant 
business, in regard to your speech of Tuesday. 
Mist. Ah ! there it is. 

Cross. I dare say we two sha' n't agree as to particu- 
30 lars ; but for my part, Mr. Sittingbourn, if you support 
that appropriation clause in the Irish Tithe Bill, I have 
done with you. 

Sitt. How so ? Why, Mr. Cross, you are, I believe, a 

Romanist. You, surely, can have none of the fears and 

35 apprehensions whit' ■■ '' * " ' ^-''~ "list, entertains as 



276 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[pABT n. 



11 




20 



to the overweening influence of your religion, in this 
Protestant country. 

Cross. Fear, sir! no, — there is no great fear of that, 
while we have such men in Parliament as yourself. Why, 
5 Sir, let me ask you, why should you so readily accede to 
a proposition for benefiting Catholics in Ireland, and make 
no exertion to secure us similar advantages in England ? 
We are all on equal ground now, sir, — we are emanci- 
pated ; that is to say, we have our common rights ; and I 
10 am just as eligible to sit in Parliament, as you, sir. 
Why, then, is Ireland to be favored at our expense ? I 
say, sir, it is your duty to advocate our cause, as well as 
that of the Irish Catholics ; and you must, if you expect 
any support from me, either vote against that clause, or 
15 originate some motion to extend the same advantages to 
England. 

Sitt. Time alone is wanting. Rome was not built in 
a day ; nor can her church be established in an hour : 
everything must be done by degrees. 

Mist. Oh ! then, it is gradually to be effected. 

Sitt. I did not say that. 

Cross. Did n't you mean it, sir ? 

Sitt. Why, really— 

Cross. This will not do ; I must have a specific answer 
25 before I go. \Enter Clerk.'] 

Clerk. Sir, I was not aware that you had company. 
Mr. Mist, how d' ye do ? Mr. Cross, your servant ; I 
won't detain you five minutes ; — can I speak to you 
alone ? 

Sitt. I dare say, you may speak before your friends. 

Clerk. Well, sir, I shall be very short. I hear you 
have made a speech in favor of a general registration of 
wills in London. Is that the case, sir ? 

Sitt. Why, I certainly did support that measure. It 
was represented to me as an advisable thing, — and — 

Clerk. " Advisable," is it ! What, sir, to deprive hun- 
dreds of honest professional men of their livelihood, to 
gorge the already bloated London practitioners ? Sir, it 
is nonsense, — madness, — folly. 

Sitt. It did not strike me to be so : I must be the best 
judge of what I have myself examined and inquired into. 
There appears to be a vast deal of difficulty and intricacy 
in the present system, and no small proportion of chica- 
nery and extortion ; and I really cannot submit to^^ 



30 



35 



40 



pIrT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 277 

Cltrk. Submit, sir, what do you mean by submitting ? 
I sent you to Parliament to represent me. — I tell you that 
the new Registration Bill is a most shameful bill, and 
will rob me of four hundred and eighty pounds per 
5 annum; what have you, sir, to set against that? I insist 
upon it you do not vote for that bill. 

Sitt. But I have pledged myself in a speech. 
Clerk. Then, sir, I wish you would not speak so much, 
like the parrot,— you might perhaps think the more ; or, 
10 like our last excellent representative, who never spoke at 
all, think as much as he did. You must not vote for it, 
sir,— -that 's all. \^Enter Dobbins.'] 
Sitt. Mr. Dobbins, your servant. 

Dobbins. Yours, sir, ah ! some friends and neighbors ; 
15 perhaps we are here on the same errand. 

Sitt. These gentlemen are come to complain of me. 
Dobb. Then, sir, we are all agreed ; and as we are all 
of the same party, and the same club, I have no scruple 
in speaking out at once, for I am in a hurry, — we military 
20 men are punctual, and I have another appointment. In 
fact, Mr. Sittingbourn, I perceive that you voted for the 
reduction of the army. 

Sitt. I did, sir, and conscientiously too : I think our 
military force is too considerable for the peaceable times 
25 in which we live. 

Dobb. That 's all very fine, Mr. Sittingbourn ; and no 

man in the kingdom is more anxious for reduction in the 

public expenditure than myself; but of all the things to 

touch, the army, sir, is the last. I have been for many 

30 years on half-pay. — I have no chance of getting upon full 

pay, if the least reduction takes place, — if things remain 

as they are, it is possible ; but the idea of blighting the 

prospects of a man who so strenuously supported you — 

Sitt. Sir, I was speaking on a great national question, 

35 — I spoke in generals : — 

Dobb. Yes, sir, and forgot the lieutenants; but that 
won't do. 

Sitt. All I know, is, that amongst the most vehement 
advocates for reduction, — amongst the most ardent de- 
40 nouncers of extravagant expenditure, — you were the fore- 
most, and I — 

Dobb. That 's all very right, sir : I feel that I am an 
oppressed Inan. — I have had beardless boys put over my 
24 



278 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

head : — the system is a corrupt one. and a base one;— -but 
reduction, sir — I — [Enter Cowl.] 

Mr. Cowl. So, sir, you voted against the repeal of the 
malt-tax, — that 's a pretty go : — how came that about ? 
5 Sitt. Why, sir, as you ask me so plainly, I will answer 
as candidly. I went determined to oppose the tax, and 
support the repeal ; but after hearing Sir Robert Peel's 
explanation, I confess I could not, in justice and honor, do 
otherwise than vote for its continuation. 
10 Cowl. That 's a pretty go : you are a nice man to send 
to the House of Commons, with your Peel and your 
repeal ; all I can say is, that you ought to be ashamed of 
yourself, sir ; and I am worth fifty thousand pounds, and 
neither ashamed nor afraid to tell you so. 
15 Sitt. I cannot see why I should be ashamed of acting 
conscientiously. 

Cowl. Did n't you pledge yourself to vote against it ? 
Sitt. I did, but I was convinced by argument. 
CovjI. Argument ! — fiddledeedee for argument : I did n't 
20 give you my vote, sir, to be argued out of your promise. 
Sitt. I saw no injury done to the people by the tax, I 
saw — 

Cowl. " Saw !" I don't care what you saw. Who cares 
for the people ? I have heard you say it would not have 
25 made a penny a pot difference in beer to the people, as 
you call them ; but it would have made more than five or 
six shillings in the bushel to me; and who are the people, 
I should like to know, if it is not the maltsters ? [Enter 
Lock.] 
30 Sitt. Mr. Lock, are you here too, — and to complain ? 
Lock. Indeed I am, sir. — ^here, sir, here is your name, 
voting in a majority for the Eattledumslap Railroad ; the 
success of which will just rob me of four thousand six 
hundred a year, — supersedes the whole line of the Tow- 
35 twaddle canal, of Avhich I hold, at this moment, two-thirds 
of the shares. [Enter Jarvis.] 

Mr. Jarvis. That is nothing to me, Mr. Lock, — nothing, 
sir, — nothing. 

Lock. How so, Mr. Jarvis ? 
40 Jarvis. Why, sir, you are a rich man, — I am a poor 
one : — your kinal did us a precious sight of harm of itself; 
and that ought never to have been suffered ; but as you 
say, the rail-road, which will take passengers as well as 
luggage, will be the ruin on me. Yes, Mr. Sittingbourn, 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 279 

if that Rattledumslap Bill is passed, no vote of mine do 
you ever have again. I 'a horsed that road, now nigh 
upon thirty years, — I bore up against the kinal, — ^but for 
the railroad — 
5 Sitt. I give you my word, I was not aware that the 
railroad would interfere with your interests ; or, to tell 
you the truth, that it would come near your line. It 
struck me as a great national work, worthy of support. 
Lock. " National work ! " It is mighty agreeable to 

10 hear you putting what you call a national work in compe- 
tition with my Tow-twaddle Canal. 

Jarvis. Yes, or the Eclipse, Wonder, and Rocket, all 
of which call me master. 

Mist. I take higher grounds of objection to Mr. Sitting- 

15 bourn. 

Cross. And I, higher still, — the oppression of a vast 
body of Englishmen. 

Mist. The danger of a large connexion of exemplary 
Christians. 

20 Cowl. Sir, I have just six questions to put to you : — 

Sitt. Sir, I cannot allow any questions to be put here ; 
this is neither the House of Commons nor the hustings ; 
and as I have other things to do besides listening to the 
separate grievances of a whole constituency, I shall wish 

25 you a very good morning, leaving my breakfast parlor 
entirely at your service to discuss your own business, 
which is none of mine ; and I only beg leave to tell you 
that whatever your opinion of the relative obligations of a 
representative to his constituents may be, I, for one, con- 

30 scious of doing my duty to you and to my country, to the 
best of my ability, will neither hold the ofHce of a slave, 
nor endure the character of a delegate. I wish you a 
very good morning ; and when next we meet in the 
Town Hall, I shall be happy to hear what you may have 

35 to say. 

LESSON CXLIir. A REPUBLICAN SCHOOL-ROOM. A. B. BIUZZEY. 

The success of all human enterprises depends much on 
the importance attached to them, the dignity they assume 
in our view, and the associations which circle round them. 
The orators of immortal renown, in ancient times, were 
5 accustomed to invest the themes they discussed, with a 
peculiar greatness, and to throw a halo of glory around 



If: 




$80 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

the occasion that had convened their audience. But there 
is one assembly, unknown to their days, and compared 
with which their proudest conventions fade, as the morn- 
ing star before coming day. It is in the school-room in a 
§ republic, the place where, in a land favored like our own, 
the children of the rich and the poor, of the obscure and 
the honored, are seated side by side. This spectacle was 
reserved for a modern age ; and if, of old, the thought of 
that influence, which an eloquent voice may exert over an 

10 audience of mature minds, fixed habits, and established 
principles, was so inspiring, what is not the legitimate 
effect of contemplating a collection of immortal beings, 
brought together for the culture of their noblest powers, at 
the earliest, and, therefore, the most decisive period of 

15 their lives ? 

When I think of the office of one, set for a teacher of 
those beings, it rises in my mind to a rank which might 
seem, even to those thus occupied, to be unduly magni- 
fied, did I state my own feelings in relation to it. Many 

20 look down for the Teacher; they think his work one 
which almost any individual can perform, and to which 
neither honor, nor high compensation, rightfully belong. 
I look up for the teacher, far above gross and perishing 
interests, up to the clear sky of spirit, intelligence, and 

25 character ; and of him, who is charged with these sacred 
concerns, and who is faithful to this great vocation, I can 
never think otherwise than with reverence. 



LESSON CXLIV. THE ENGLISH SKYLARK. SAMUEL H. 

STEARNS. 

[Extract from a letter of a young American to his brother.] 

London, July 12, 1836. 
My Dear Brother, — I rose early to enjoy the hallowed 
hour of devotion. It was my first Sabbath in a foreign 
land; and a delightful morning it was. The sky was 
clear, and the air was fresh and balmy. I walked beyond 
the closely built houses of the town, now closed in silence 
on their slumbering inhabitants, to spend those halcyon 
moments among cottages and gardens, fields and hedges, 
all bright with the morning sun, and fresh with the dew 
of heaven, to be regaled with views as beautiful as they 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 281 

were new, with the fragrance of flowers I had never 
before seen, and the music of birds whose notes had never 
before struck my ear and thrilled my heart. 

When I had reached the top of a broad, swelling, ver- 
5 dant hill, about one and a half mile from the town, I took 
my position upon the top of a hedge bank. The town and 
the harbor were before me ; and all around were the neat 
white-washed, straw-thatched cottages, and blooming 
gardens, and velvet-like fields, enclosed with green and 

10 flowering hedges, and shaded with deep verdant trees, 
and enlivened with gay birds, which alone, of all animated 
beings seemed, with inanimate nature, to have caught the 
spirit of the morning, and to be sympathizing and vying 
with each ether in the worship of their Maker. 

15 I had not stood there long before I enjoyed the principal 
object of my search. It was the morning lark, rising and 
singing towards heaven, — ^just as Jeremy Taylor has so 
beautifully described it to our imaginations. I could not 
have had a better exhibition of it. It satisfied, and more 

20 than satisfied, my previous, and most pleasing conceptions 
of it. I saw one rise, and watched its ascent, and listened 
to its song, till it was entirely above and beyond my sight. 
I could only hear its note, more soft, more sweet as it was 
nearer the home of the blest, and the object of its praise, 

25 the throne of its God. 

I could think of nothing but of some returning angel, 
or of some sainted spirit released from its service below, 
and springing from the earth, gaily ascending higher and 
higher, singing more and more joyously, and resting not 

30 from its song or its flight, till it folds its wing and rests its 
foot by the throne of Him who made it. I could still 
hear its note, and still I gazed after it, and presently dis- 
cerned its form, and saw it descend ; but its descent was, 
if possible, more beautiful than its ascent. It returned to 

35 earth with such a graceful and easy motion, it seemed as 
if conscious that it could, at any time, rise again. 

I did not intend to give you any description of this hour 
or of this scene ; and you can have no idea of it now. It 
was altogether the happiest hour I have enjoyed since I 

40 left my native land. I returned to my lodgings, satisfied, 
— filled, — and feeling as if I had had a glimpse, and 
caught a note, of heaven. 



24^ 



AU^^XQA^ comioNscSiOOL [faet h. 

tEaSQN CXLV. — THE INVALID AND THE POLITICIAN. 

Murphy, 
[Enter Feeble in his night- goivn,'\ 

Quidnunc. [Without.] Hold your tongue, you foolish 
fellow, he '11 be glad to see me. Brother Feeble ! brother 
Feeble ! 

Feeble. I was just going to bed. Bless my heart ! what 
5 can this man want ? I know his voice. I hope no new 
misfortune brings him at this hour ! [Enter Quid.] 

Brother Feeble, I give you joy : the nabob 's demolish- 
ed. — Hurrah ! 

Feeb. Lack-a-day, Mr; Quidnunc, how can you serve 
10 me thus ? 

Quid. Suraja Dowla is no more ! Hurrah ! 

Feeb. Poor man ! he 's stark, staring mad. 

Quid. Our men diverted themselves with killing their 
bullocks and their camels, till they dislodged the enemy 
15 from the octagon, and the counterscarp, and the bunga- 
low— 

Feeb. I '11 hear the rest to-morrow morning :■ — Oh ! I 'm 
ready to die ! 

Quid. Odds heart, man, be of good cheer ! The new 
20 nabob, JafFer Alley Cawn, has acceded to a treaty; and 
the English company got all their rights in the Phiemad 
and the Fushbulhoorums. 

Feeb. But dear heart, Mr. Quidnunc ! why am I to be 
disturbed for this ? 
25 Quid. We had but two seapoys killed, three chokeys, 
four gaul-walls, and two zemindars, — hurrah ! 

Feeb. Would not to-morrow morning do as well for 
this ? 

Quid. Light up your windows, man ! Light up your 
30 windows ! Chandernagore is taken, — hurrah ! 

Feeb. Well, well, I 'm glad of it — good night ! [Going.^ 

Quid. Here ! here 's the Gazette ! 

Feeb. Oh! I shall certainly faint ! [Sits down.] 

Quid. Ay, ay, sit down ; and I '11 read it to you. — [Be- 

35 gins to read. Feeb. moms away.] Nay, don't run away, 

I 've more news to tell you ! — there 's an account frorti 

Williamsburg in America : — the superintendent of Indian 

affairs — 

Feeb. Dear sir ! dear sir \— [Avoiding him.] 



^ART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 

Quid. He has settled matters with the Chetokees— ^ 
[Following kim,] 

Feeb, Enough, enough ! — [From him.] 

Quid. In the same manner he did before with the Cataw- 
5 has.- — [After him.] 

Feeb. Well, well, — your servant — [From him.] 

Quid. So that the white inhabitants — [After hijn.] 

Feeb. I wish you would let me be a quiet inhabitant of 
my own house— 
10 Quid. So that the white inhabitants will now be 
secured by the Cherokees and Catawbas — 

Feeb. You 'd better go home, and think of appearing 
before the commissioners : — 

Quid. Go home ! no, no : I '11 go and talk the matter 
15 over at our coffee-house. [Going.] 

Feeb. Do so, do so ! 

Quid. [Returning.] I had a dispute about the balance 
of power ; — pray, now, can you tell — 

Feeb. I know nothing of the matter — 
20 Quid. Well, another time will do for that. — I have a 
great deal to say about that — [Going, returns.] Right, I 
had like to have forgot ; there 's an erratum in the last 
Gazette, 

Feeb. With all my heart — 
25 Quid. Page 3, 1st col., 1st and 3rd lines, — for bombs, 
read booms, 

Feeb, Read what you will — ■ 

Quid. Nay, but that alters the sense, you know. — Well 
now, your servant. If I hear any more news, I '11 come 
30 and tell you. 

Feeb. For Heaven's sake no more : — 

Quid. I '11 be with you before you 're out of your first 
sleep : — 

Feeb. Good night, good night ! — [Runs off.] 
35 Quid. [Bawling after him.] I forgot to tell you — the 
Emperor of Morocco is dead. So now, I have made him 
happy. I '11 go and knock up my friend Razor, and make 
him happy, too ; and then I 'II go and see if anybody is 
up at the coffee-house, and make them all happy there, 
40 too. 



5^11^^ 






i« 



284 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PA! 

LESSON CXLVI. NEW ENGLAND FREEDOM AND ENTERPRISE. 

JOSIAH QUINCY. 

If, after a general survey of the surface of "New Eng- 
land, we cast our eyes on its cities and great towns, with 
what wonder should we behold, did not familiarity render 
the phenomenon almost unnoticed, men, combined in great 
5 multitudes, possessing freedom and the consciousness of 
strength, — the comparative physical power of the ruler less 
than that of a cobweb across a lion's path, — yet orderly, 
obedient, and respectful to authority; a people, but no 
populace ; every class in reality existing, which the gene- 

10 ral law of society acknowledges, except one, — and this 
exception characterizing the whole country. The soil of 
New England is trodden by no slave. In our streets, in 
our assemblies, in the halls of election and legislation, men 
of every rank and condition meet, and unite or divide on 

15 other principles, and are actuated by other motives, than 
those growing out of such distinctions. 

The fears and jealousies, which in other countries sepa- 
rate classes of men, and make them hostile to each other, 
have here no influence, or a very limited one. Each indi- 

20 vidual, of whatever condition, has the consciousness of liv- 
ing under known laws, which secure equal rights, and 
guarantee to each whatever portion of the goods of life, be 
it great or small, chance, or talent, or industry, may have be- 
stowed. All perceive, that the honors and rewards of society 

25 are open equally to the fair competition of all ; that the dis- 
tinctions of wealth, or of power, are not fixed in families ; 
that whatever of this nature exists to-day, may be changed to- 
morrow, or, in a coming generation, be absolutely reversed. 
Common principles, interests, hopes, and affections, are the 

30 result of universal education. Such are the consequences 
of the equality of rights, and of the provisions for the gen- 
eral diffusion of knowledge and the distribution of intestate 
estates, established by the laws framed by the earliest emi- 
grants to New England. 

35 If, from our cities, we tura to survey the wide expanse 
of the interior, how do the effects of the institutions and 
example of our early ancestors appear, in all the local com- 
fort and accommodation which mark the general condition 
of the whole country ; — unobtrusive, indeed, but substan- 

40 tial ; in nothing splendid, but in every thing sufficient and 
satisfactory. Indications of active talent and practical 
energy, exist everywhere. With a soil comparatively little 



FiiKT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. S8^ 

l^axuriant, and, in great proportion, either rock, or hill, or 
sand, the skill and industry of man are seen triumphing 
over the obstacles of nature; making the rock the guardian 
©f the field; moulding the granite, as though it were clay; 
5 leading cultivation to the hill-top, and spreading over the 
arid plain, hitherto unknown and unanticipated harvests. 
The lofty mansion of the prosperous, adjoins the lowly 
dwelling of the hasbandman ; their respective inmates are 
in the daily interchange of civility, sympathy, and respect, 

10 Enterpri-se and skill, v/hich once held chief affinity with 
the ocean or the sea-board, now begin to delight the inte- 
rior, haunting our rivers, where the music of the waterfall, 
with powers more attractive than those of the fabled harp 
of Orpheus, collects around it intellectual man and mate- 

15 rial nature. Towns and cities, civilized and happy com- 
munities, rise, like exhalations, on rocks and in forests, till 
the deep and far-resounding voice of the neighboring tor- 
rent is itself lost and unheard, amid the predominating 
noise of successful and rejoicing labor. 



LESSON CXLVIL FREEDOM AND PSOGRESS. CHARLES G, 

ATHERTON. 

Our forefathers came to this land, seeking refuge from 
oppression. Despised and insulted by the haughty arbi- 
ters of the old world, that meek and suffering, but hardy 
and faithful band brought to inhospitable and savage 
5 shores, their household gods, their principles, their hopes. 
They were wafted hither by no prosperous gales of royal 
favor : — no lofty patronage protected their humble troop. 

The same spirit which led them here, — which supported 
them under trials and privations almost insupportable, — 

iO which nerved their souls against the attacks of hunger, 
want and savage enemies, — this same spirit flowed down 
to their descendants, and became a part of their being. It 
was the same spirit which in them prompted resistance to 
unwarrantable assumptions on the part of the parent coun- 

15 try, and the renunciation of an allegiance that no longer 
promised protection. It was the same spirit, that, through- 
out their struggle, nerved their arms and braced their 
souls, and led them to resolve, to use the words of one of 
their most able writers, *' that wheresoever, whensoever, 

20 and howsoever, they might be called to make their exit, 
they would die free men i" 



286 



AMERICAN COMHON-SCHOOL 



^1 

[fart nfWi 



Long enough, have the despots of Europe kept their 
subjects in ignorance, in order to preserve their own sway. 
Long enough, have they lorded it over the consciences and 
birthrights of men. The divine right of kings, which they 
5 have altered into the milder term legitimacy, will not do. 
" The right divine of kings to govern wrong," is not a 
maxim for this bold, busy, and inquiring age. There is a 
spirit abroad, too dangerous to be trifled with. Its out- 
breakings have already been feen, in various parts of the 

10 earth. If the masters of the old world yield to its progTess-, 
it may reform abuses gradually, as the water-drop wears 
the marble, and they may hide in obscurity their imbecility 
and shame. 

But let them form themselves into alliances, and, by 

15 combinations, endeavor to preserve their sway, and " the 
over-strung nations will arm in madness," Let them en- 
deavor to breast and stop the tide of improvement which 
is rushing onward, and it will sweep them away, in its 
mighty torrent. The murmurings of the storm are already 

20 heard in the forest, the sighings of the gusts of wind, and 
the groans of the laboring trees. If they prostrate them- 
selves before the coming tempest, it may pass them un- 
touched, unhurt ; but woe to those who endeavor to brave 
it ; for the angel of death will ride on its rushing wings. 

25 Reverses may ensue in the cause of freedom ; hope 
delayed may sicken the souls of patriots ; the exertions of 
heroes and martyrs may be, for a while, in vain ; brave 
hearts may spill their best blood, on the points of merce- 
nary bayonets, but the cause of human nature, and of God, 

30 must triumph ! I say the cause of God ; for the Almighty 
has not placed the longing after freedom, any more than 
the longing after immortality in our bosoms, that it should 
only forever be a source of disappointment and despair! 
Our history must inspire all. And it is curious to reflect 

35 that our forefathers, despised and insulted by the poten- 
tates of the old world, brought that here with them, which 
shall react, nay, is reacting on their persecutors, Avith tre- 
mendous energy. They came here " to plant the tree of 
life, to plant fair freedom's tree," which has grown up so 

40 large and beautiful, and will overshadow all the earth, — 
the tree which shall prove, to the free of all nations, a 
shelter and protection, but, to tyrants and oppressors, will 
be more deadly than the Upas, which blasts and withers 
all who approach it. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 287 

The only condition on which liberty is granted to man, 
is that of perpetual vigilance. This subtle spirit of oppres- 
sion must be met, in its first approaches, it must be guard- 
ed against, with ever anxious care. Man cannot procure 
5 anything of importance, unless b}^ striving for it ; nor can 
he retain anything worth having, unless by guarding it. 
The husbandman, before he can expect the earth to yield 
its increase, must prepare it, by his toil ; and after his 
stores are gathered, his care is still necessary to preserve 

10 them. 

The accumulator of property, when he has amassed 
wealth, if he would not lose all the fruits of his labor and 
anxiety, must still be ever on the alert, lest it vanish, and 
all his fond hopes be prostrated. No other blessing can 

15 we expect to enjoy long, without activity and care on our 
part ; and why should we expect that liberty, the greatest 
of blessings, can be retained without either ? Why should 
we imagine, that, because we now have liberty, we must 
always possess it, however supine we may be ? If free- 

20 dom is worth fighting for, it is worth preserving. Let us 
never listen to the voice which would calm all our appre- 
hensions, and lull us into slumbers of security ; into a 
quiet which might be repose indeed, but would soon be 
the leaden sleep of despotism. 



LESSON CXLVIII. SCENE FROM MARINO FALIERO. ByTOTl, 

[Doge, President, and Senators.] 
Doge. The seigniory of Venice ! You betrayed me ! 

You, — you who sit there, — traitors as ye are ! 

From my equality with you in birth, 

And my superiority in action, 
5 You drew me from my honorable toils 

In distant lands, — on flood, — in field, — in cities ; 

You singled me out, like a victim, to 

Stand crowned, but bound and helpless, at the altar, 

Where you alone could minister. I knew not, — 
10 Sought not, wished not, dreamed not, the election, 

Which reached me first at Rome, and I obeyed ; 

But found, on my arrival, that, besides 

The jealous vigilance which always led you 

To mock and mar you, sovereign's best intents, 
15 You had, even in the interregnum of 

My journey to the capitol, curtailed 




AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H» 

And mutilated the few privileges 
Yet left the duke. All this I hore, and would 
Have borne, had not my very hearth been stained 
By the pollution of your ribaldry, 
5 And he, the ribald, whom I see amongst you, — 
Fit judge in such tribunal ! 

President. And can it be, that the great doge of Venice, 
With three parts of a century of years 
And honors on his head, could thus allow 

10 His fury, (like an angry boy's,) to master 
All feeling, wisdom, faith, and fear, on such 
A provocation as a young man's petulance ? 

Doge. A sfrark creates the flame; 'tis the last drop 
Which makes the cup run o'er, — and mine was full 

15 Already. You oppressed the prince and people : — 
I would have freed both,— and have failed in both. 
Pause not : I would have shown no mercy, and I seek none. 
My life was staked upon a mighty hazard, — 
And, being lost, take what I would have taken. 

20 I would have stood alone amidst your tombs ; 

Now you may flock round mine, and trample on it, 
As you have done upon my heart while living. 

President. You do confess then and admit the justice 
Of our tribunal ? 

25 Doge. I confess to have failed. 

Fortune is female :— from my youth her favors 
Were not withheld. The fault was mine to hope 
Her former smiles again, at this late hour. 

Pres. You do not, then, in aught an-aign our equity ? 

30 Doge. Noble Venetians, stir me not with questions. 
1 am resigned to the worst, but in me still 
Have something of the blood of brighter days, 
And am not over-patient. Pray you, spare me 
Further interrogation, which boots nothing, 

35 Except to turn a trial to debate. 

I shall but answer that which will oflend you, 
And please your enemies, — a host already. 
'T is true, these sullen walls should yield no echo ; 
But walls have ears, — nay more, they have tongues,— 
and if 

40 There were no other way for truth to overleap them, — 
You, who condemn me, — you who fear and slay me, — 
Yet could not bear in silence to your graves 



PART 11.3 READER AND SPEAKER. 289 

What you would hear from me of good or evil. 

The secret were too mighty for your souls ! 

Then let it sleep in mine, — unless you court 
6 A danger which would double that you escape. 

Such my defence would he, had I full scope 

To make it famous : — for true words are things ; 

And dying men's are things which long out-live, 

And oftentimes avenge them. Bury mine, 
10 If ye would fain survive me. Take this counsel; 

And, though too oft ye made me live in wrath, 

Let me die calmly. You may grant me this ! — 

I deny nothing, — defend nothing, — nothing 

I ask of you but silence for myself, 
15 And sentence from the court ! 

President. Marino Faliero,"^ doge of Venice, 

Count of Val di Marino, senator, 

And sometime general of the fleet and army, 

Noble Venetian, many times and oft 
20 Intrusted by the state with nigh employments, 

Even to the highest,— listen to the sentence ! 

Convict by many witnesses and proofs, 

And by thine own confession, of the guilt 

Of treachery, and treason, yet unheard of 
25 Until this trial, — the decree is death ! 

The place wherein as doge thou shouldst be painted, 

With thine illustrious predecessors, is 

To be left vacant, with a death-black veil 

Flung over these dim words engraved beneath, — 
80 " This place is of Marino Faliero, 

Decapitated for his crimes." 
Doge, What crimes ? 

Were it not better to record the facts, 

So that the contemplator might approve, 
35 Or at least learn whence the crimes arose ? 

When the beholder knows a doge conspired, 

Let him be told the cause, — it is your history. 

Pres. Time must reply to that. Our sons will judge 

Their fathers' judgment, which I now pronounce. 
40 As doge, clad in the ducal robes and cap, 

Thou shalt be led hence to the Giant's Staircase, 

Where thou and all our princes are invested ; 

And there, the ducal crown being first resumed, 

* Pronounced. Mareeno Faleedyro. 
25 



1 



290 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET 

Upon the spot where it was first assumed, 

Thy head shall be struck off; and Heaven have mercy 

Upon thy soul ! 

Doge. Is this the sentence? 
5 President. It is. 

Doge. I can endure it. And the time ? 

Pres. Must be immediate. Make thy peace with G-od^ — 
Within an hour thou must be in His presence ! 

Doge. I am there already ; and my blood will rise 
10 Before the souls of those who shed it I 



LESSON CXLIX. THE RICH MAN's SON, AND THE POOR MAN'S 

SON. J. R. LOWELL. 

The rich man's son inherits lands, 
And piles of brick, and stone, and gold ; 
And he inherits soft, white hands, 
And tender flesh that fears the cold ; 
5 Nor dares to wear a garment old : 

A heritage, it seems to me^ 
One would not care to hold in fee : 

The rich man's son inherits cares; 
The bank may break, the factory burn ; 
10 Some breath may burst his bubble shares ; 

And soft, white hands would hardly earn 
A living that would suit bis turn : 
A heritage, it seems to me. 
One would not care to hold in fee. 

15 What does the poor man's son inherit? 

Stout muscles and a sinewy heart ; 

A hardy frame, a hardier spirit ; 

King of two hands ; he does his part. 

In every useful toil and art : 
20 A heritage, it seems to me, 

A king might wish to hold in fee. 

What does the poor man's son inherit ?— 
Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things ; 
- A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit ; 
25 Content that from employment springs ; 

A heart that in his labor sings : 
A heritage, it seems to me, 
A king might wish to hold in fee : 



TART II] EEADER AND SPEAKER, ' 2.91 

What does the poor man's son inherit ? — ■ 
A patience learned by being poor, 
'Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, 
A fellow feeling that is sure 
^ To make the outcast bless his door: 

A heritage, it seems to ra.e, 
A king might wish to hold in fee. 

Oh ! rich man's son, there is a toil 
That with all others level stands-; 
10 Large charity doth never soil, 

Bat only whitens, soft, white hands: 
This is the best crop from the lands : 
A heritage, it seems to me. 
Worth being rich to hold in fee. 

15 Oh ! poor man's son, scorn not thy state ;— 

There is worse weariness than thine^ 

In merely being rich and great; 

Work only makes the soul to shine, 

And makes rest fragrant and benign : 
SO ' A heritage, it seems to me. 

Worth being poor to hold in fee. 

Both heirs to some six feet of sod, 
Are equal in the earth at last ; 

Both children of the same dear OoD ; 
25 Prove title to your heirship vast, 

By record of a well-filled past : 
*» A heritage, it seems to me. 

Well worth a life to hold in fee. 



LESSON CL. NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD. ISAAC m'lELLAN, JR, 

"I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; she needs 
none. There she is ; behold her, and judge for yourselves. — There 
is her history. The world knows it by heart. The past, at; least, is 
secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker 
Hill ; and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, 
falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with 
the soil of every state, from New England to Georgia; and there 
they will remain forever." — Webster's Speech. 

"New England's dead ! New England's dead! 

On every hill they lie ; 
On every field of strife made red 

By bloody victory. 



292 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I!. 

Each valley, where the battle poured 

Its red and awful tide. 
Beheld the brave New England sword 

With slaughter deeply dyed. 
5 Their bones are on the northern hill, 

And on the southern plain, 
By brook and river, lake and rilly 

And by the roaring main. 

The land is holy where they fought, 
10 And holy where they fell ; 

For by their blood that land was bought. 

The land they loved so well. 
Then glory to that valiant band, 
The honored saviors of the land ! 
15 Oh ! few and weak their numbers were, — 
A handful of brave men ; 
But to their God they gave their prayer, 

And rushed to battle then. 
The God of battles heard their cry, 
20 And sent to them the victory. 

They left the ploughshare in the mould, 
Their flocks and herds without a fold, 
The sickle in the unshorn grain, 
The corn, half garnered, on the plain, 
25 And mustered, in their simple dress, 
For wrongs to seek a stern redress. 
To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe. 
To perish, or o'ercome their foe. 

And where are ye, fearless men ? 
80 And where are ye to-day ? 

I call : — the hills reply again 

That ye have passed away ; 
That on old Bunker's lonely height, 
In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground, 
85 The grass grows green, the harvest bright^, 
Above each soldier's mound. 

The bugle's wild and warlike blast 

Shall muster them no more ; 
An army now might thunder pastj, 
40 And they not heed its roar. 



PART IL] reader AND SPEAKER. 293 

The starry flag, 'neath which they fought, 

In many a bloody day, 
From their old graves shall rouse them not, 

For they have passed away. 



LESSON CLI. ^THE GRAVES OF THE PATRIOTS.— J. G. PERCIVAL. 

Here rest the great and good, — here they repose 
After their generous toil. A sacred band, 
They take their sleep together, while the year 
Comes with its early flowers to deck their graves, 
5 And gathers them again, as winter frowns. 
Theirs is no vulgar sepulchre, — green sods 
Are ail their monument; and yet it tells 
A nobler history, than pillared piles. 
Or the eternal pyramids. They need 

10 No statue nqj inscription to reveal 

Their greatness. It is round them ; and the joy 
With which their children tread the hallowed ground 
That holds their venerated bones, the peace 
That smiles on all they fought for, and the wealth 

15 That clothes the land they rescued, — these, though mute 
As feeling ever is when deepest, — these 
Are monuments more lasting, than the fanes 
Reared to the kings and demigods of old. 

Touch not the ancient elms, that bend their shade 

20 Over their lowly graves ; beneath their boughs 
There is a solemn darkness, even at noon, 
Suited to such as visit at the shrine 
Of serious liberty. No factious voice 
Called them unto the field of generous fame, 

25 But the pure consecrated love of home. 

No deeper feeling sways us, when it wakes 
In all its greatness. It has told itself 
To the astonished gaze of awe-struck kings. 
At Marathon, at Bannockburn, and here, 

30 Where first our patriots sent the invader back 
Broken and cowed. Let these green elms be all 
To tell us where they fought, and where they Ifk, 
Their feelings were all nature ; and they need 
No art to make them known. They live in us, 

35 While we are like them, simple, hardy, bold, 
Worshipping nothing but our own pure hearts, 
25^ 



294 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I2, 

And the one universal Lord. They need 
No column pointmg to the heaven they sought, 
To tell us of their home. The heart itself, 
Left to its own free purpose, hastens there, 
5 And there alone reposes. Let these elms 

Bend their protecting shadow o'er their graves^ 
And build with their green roof the only fane, 
Where we may gather on the hallowed day, 
That rose to them in blood, and set in glory. 

10 Here let us meet ; and v/hile our motionless lips 
Give not a sound, and all around is mute 
In the deep sabbath of a heart too full 
For words or tears, — here let us strew the sod 
With the first flowers of spring, and make to them 

15 An offering of the plenty. Nature gives, 

And they have rendered ours, — perpetually. 



LESSON CLII. TRUTH. H. W. LONGFELLOW, 

holy and eternal Truth ! Thou art 

An emanation of the Eternal Mind ! 
A glorious attribute, — a noble part 

Of uncreated being ! Who can find, 
5 By diligent searching, — who can find out thee;, 
The Incomprehensible, — the Deity ! 

The human mind is a reflection caught 

From thee, a trembling shadow of thy ray. 
Thy glory beams around us, but the thought 
10 That heavenward wings its daring flight away. 
Returns to where its flight was first begun. 
Blinded and dark beneath the noon-day sun. 

The soul of man, though sighing after thee, 
Hath never known thee, saving as it knows 
15 The stars of heaven, whose glorious light we see, 
The sun, whose radiance dazzles as it glows ; 
Something, that is beyond us, and above 
The reach of human power, though not of human love. 

Vainly Philosophy may strive to teach 
20 The secret of thy being. Its faint ray 

Misguides our steps. Beyond the utmost reach 
Of its untiring wing, the eternal day 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 295 

Of truth is shining on the longing eye, 

Distant, — unchanged,— -changeless, — pure and high ! 

And yet thou hast not left thyself without 

A revelation. All we feel and see 
5 Within us and around, forbids to doubt. 

Yet speaks so darkly and mysteriously 
Of what we are and shall be evermore. 
We doubt, and yet believe, and tremble and adore ! 



LESSON CLIII. THE FIRST SETTLERS IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. 

N. A. HAVEN. 

Two hundred years ago, the place* on which we stand 
was an uncultivated forest. The rough and vigorous soil 
was still covered with the stately trees, which had been, 
for ages, intermingling their branches and deepening the 
5 shade. The river, which now bears, on its bright and 
pure waters, the treasures of distant climates, and whose 
rapid current is stemmed and vexed by the arts and enter- 
prise of man, then only rippled against the rocks, and 
reflected back the wild and grotesque thickets which over- 

10 hung its banks. The mountain, which now swells on our 
left, and raises its verdant side, " shade above shade," was 
then almost concealed by the lofty growth which covered 
the intervening plains. Behind us, a deep morass, extend- 
ing across to the northern creek, almost enclosed the little 

15 " Bank," which is now the seat of so much life and indus- 
try. It was then a wild and tangled thicket, interspersed 
with venerable trees and moss-grown rocks, and present- 
ing, here and there, a sunny space, covered with the blos- 
soms and early fruit of the little plant that gave it its name. 

20 This " Bank," so wild and rude, two hundred years ago, 
was first impressed with the step of civilized man. 

The influence of local association is strong and univer- 
sal. There is no one who has not felt it ; and if it were 
possible, it would be useless to withdraw the mind from its 

25 effects. We owe many of our deepest emotions, our high- 
est and most ennobling feelings, to the suggestions of ex- 
ternal nature. The place which has been distinguished 
by the residence of one whom we love and admire, kindles 
in our minds a thousand conceptions, which we can scarcely 

* Portsmouth. 



296 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

analyze or describe. The moral beauty of character and 
sentiment, is insensibly blended with the beauty of natural 
scenery ; memory and fancy, alike excited, pass from one 
object to another, and form combinations of beauty and 
5 grandeur, softened and shaded by time and distance, but 
having enough of life and freshness, to awaken our feel- 
ings and hold undisputed dominion of our hearts. 

Here, then, let us indulge our emotions. On this spot, 
our forefathers trod. Here, their energy and persever- 

10 ance, their calm self-possession and practical vigor, were 
first called into action. Here, they met and overcame 
difficulties, which would have overpowered the imagina- 
tion, or subdued the fortitude, of ordinary men. All that 
we see around us, are memorials of their worth. It was 

15 their enterprise that opened a path for us, over the waters. 
It was their energy that subdued the forest. They founded 
our institutions. They communicated to us our love of 
freedom. They gave us the impulse that made us what 
we are. 

20 It cannot then be useless to live along the generations 
that have passed, and endeavor to identify ourselves with 
those who have gone before us. Who and ivhat were they, 
who thus fill our imaginations, and, as they rise before us, 
bring to our minds so many recollections of high senti- 

25 ment, and steady fortitude, and sober enthusiasm ? In 
what school were they formed? and what favorable cir- 
cumstances impressed upon them that character of endur- 
ing energy, which even their present descendants may 
claim, as their best inheritance ? The answer to these 

30 questions, is the subject, to which your attention will be 
directed. 

The character of individuals is always influenced, in a 
^ .^ , , greater or less degree, by that of the nation in which they 

m|||| I live. Sometimes, indeed, a great genius appears, who seems 

™ Ml I 35 not to belong either to his age or country ; as a sunny day 

|| i in winter will sometimes swell the buds, and call forth the 

early flowers, as if it belonged to a milder season, or hap- 
pier climate. But, in general, to form an accurate opinion 
of the character of an individual, it becomes necessary to 

40 estimate that of his nation, at the time, in which he lived. 
Our ancestors were Englishmen; were merchant-adven- 
turers ; were Puritans. The elements of their character 
are therefore to be found in the national character of Eng- 
land, modified in the individuals by the pursuits of com- 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 297 

merce, and the profession of an austere but ennobling form 
of religion. 

Such were the men from whom we derive our origin ; 
and such were the circumstances which impressed upon 
5 them that peculiar character, which it is hoped the lapse 
of two centuries has not yet obliterated. We may justly 
be proud of such a descent ; for no ancestry in the world, 
is half so illustrious, as the Puritan founders of New Eng- 
land. It is not merely that they were good men, and reli- 
^ 10 gious men, exhibiting in their lives an example of purity, 
and temperance, and active virtue, such as no other com- 
munity in the world could present ; but they possessed the 
dazzling qualities of human greatness. Do we love to 
dwell upon scenes of romantic adventure ? Does our im- 

15 agination kindle at the thought of distant enterprise, among 
a strange people, exposed to constant and unusual peril? 
Do we turn with delight to those bold and heroic achieve- 
ments which call forth the energy of our nature, and, by 
that deep excitement which belongs to the hopes and haz- 

20 ards of war, awaken us to a new consciousness of exist- 
ence ? All this is found in the history of our ancestors. 
They were heroes, as well as pilgrims, and nothing is 
wanting, but the pen of genius, to make their prowess and 
adventures the theme of a world's admiration. 

25 I have already alluded to the force of local association ; 
and I would again advert to it in considering the ties 

_ which ought to bind us to our native land. Other coun- 
tries may possess a richer soil and a gentler sky ; but 
where shall we find the rude magnificence of nature so 

30 blended with scenes of enchanting beauty, as among our 
mountains and lakes ? Believe me, it is because our coun- 
try is yet unexplored, that her scenes of beauty and gran- 
deur, her bright waters and swelling hills, her rich pas- 
turage of living green, mingled with fresh flowers, and 

35 skirted with deep and shady forests ; her fields teeming 
with life and vegetation ; her mountains rising into the 
dark blue sky, and blending their summits with the purple 
clouds ; her streams rushing from the hill-side, and hasten- 
ing to mingle with the sea, or lingering in the solitude of 

40 her valleys, and sparkling in the glorious sunshine ; — it is 
because these are unexplored, that they are unsung. The 
time is not far distant, when the poet will kindle into rap- 
ture, and the painter glow with emotion, in delineating our 
romantic scenery. 



298 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



But it is our moral associations that must bind us for- 
ever to the land of our fathers. It is a land of equal rights ; 
its soil is not polluted by a slave. It is a land of religious 
freedom ; no hierarchy can here exah its head, no pontiff 
5 can hurl his thunders over a trembling and prostrate mul- 
titude. It is a land of industry and toil ; affording in this 
a constant pledge of the manly virtues. It is a land of 
knowledge and progressive improvement. In no part of 
the world is so liberal a provision made by law for public 

10 instruction. It is a land whose inhabitants have already 
fulfilled the high duties to which they have been called. 
Other nations have gathered more laurels in the field of 
blood ; other nations have twined more garlands and sung 
louder praise for their poets and orators and philosophers ; 

15 but where have romantic courage and adventurous skill 
been more strikingly exhibited ? Where has practical 
wisdom been better displayed ? In the hour of danger, 
her sons have been foremost in the battle. In every con- 
test for the rights of mankind, her voice has always been 

20 raised on the side of freedom. And now that she stands 
possessed of everything which civil and political liberty 
can bestow, she is vigilant and jealous for the preserva- 
tion of her rights, and is among the first to resist encroach- 
ment. 



LESSON cLiv. — SCROOGE AND MARLEY. — Charles Dicheus. 

Marley was dead : to begin with. There is no doubt 
whatever about that. The register of his burial was 
signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and 
the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it : and Scrooge's 
5 name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to 
put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail. 

Mind ! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own 
knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door- 
nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a cof- 
10 fin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. 
But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile ; and my 
unhallowed hands shall not disturb it; or the country's 
done for. You Avill therefore permit me to repeat, em- 
phatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail. 

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How 
could it be otherwise ? Scrooge and Marley were partners 
for I don't know how many years. Scrooge was his sole 



15 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. S99 

executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole 
residuary legatee, his sole friend and sole mourner. And 
even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad 
event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the 
5 very day of the funeral, and solemnized it with an un- 
doubted bargain. 

Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name. There 
it stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door : 
" Scrooge and Marley." The firm was known as Scrooge 

10 and Marley. Sometimes people, new to the business, 
called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley ; but he 
answered to both names : it was all the same to him. 

Oh ! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, 
Scrooge ! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, 

15 clutching, covetous old sinner ! Hard and sharp as flint, 
from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire ; 
secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The 
cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed 
nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait ; made his 

20 eyes red, his thin lips blue ; and spoke out shrewdly in his 
grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his 
eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low 
temperature always about with him ; he iced his office in 
the dog-days ; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas. 

25 External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. 
No warmth could warm, nor wintry weather chill him. 
No wind that blew was bitterer than he ; no falling snow 
was more intent upon its purpose ; no pelting rain less 
open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to 

30 have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and 
sleet, could boast of the advantage over him, in only 
one respect. They often "came down" handsomely, and 
Scrooge never did. 

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with glad- 

35 some looks, " My dear Scrooge, how are you ? when will 
you come to see me?" No beggars implored him to be- 
stow a trifle ; no children asked him what it was o'clock ; 
no man or woman ever once, in all his life, inquired the 
way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the 

40 blind-men's dogs appeared to know him ; and when they 
saw him coming on, would tug -their owners into door- 
ways, and up courts ; and then would wag their tails, as 
though they said, " No eye at all is better than an evil eye, 
dark master!" 



ill 



300 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

But what did Scrooge care ? It was the very thing he 
liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, 
warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was 
what the knowinor ones called " nuts " to Scrooge. 



LESSON CLV. THE PILGRIM FATHERS OF NEW ENGLAND. 

RUFUS CHOATE, 

[Address before the N. E. Society, N. Y., Dec. 22, 1843.] 
We meet again, the children of the pilgrims, to remem- 
ber our fathers. Away from the scenes with which the 
American portion of their history is associated, forever, 
and in all men's minds ; — scenes so unadorned, yet clothed 
5 to the moral eye with a charm above the sphere of taste : — 
the uncrumbled rock, — the hill, from whose side those " deli- 
cate springs" are still gushing ; — the wide woods, — the shel- 
tered harbor, — the little islands that welcomed them, in their 
frozen garments, from the sea, and witnessed the rest and 

10 worship of that Sabbath day before their landing ; — away 
from all these scenes, — v/ithout the limits of the fond old 
colony that keeps their graves, — without the limits of the 
New England which is their wider burial place, and fitter 
monument, — in the heart of this chief city of the nation, into 

15 which the feeble band has grown, — we meet again ; — to 
repeat their names, one by one, — to retrace the lines of 
their character, — to appreciate their virtues, — to recount 
the course of their life, full of heroic deeds, varied by 
sharpest trials, varied by transcendent consequences ; to 

20 assert the directness of our descent from such an ancestry 
of goodness and greatness ; — to erect, refresh, and touch 
our spirits, by coming for an hour into their m.ore imme- 
diate presence, such as they were in the days of their 
"human agony of glory." 

25 The two centuries which interpose to hide them from 
our eye, centuries so brilliant with progress, so crowded 
by incidents, so fertile in accumulations, dissolve, for the 
moment, as a curtain of cloud, and we are, once more, by 
their side. The grand and pathetic series of their story 

30 unrolls itself around us, vivid as if with the life of yesterday. 
All the stages, all the agents of the process by which they, 
and the extraordinary class they belonged to, were slowly 
formed from the general mund and character of England; 
the influence of the age of the reformation, with which the 

35 whole Christian world was astir to its profoundest depths, 



X'ART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 301 

and outermost limits, but which was poured out unbounded 
and peculiar on them ; that various persecution, prolonged 
through two hundred years, and twelve reigns, from the 
time of the preaching of Wickliffe to the accession of James 
5 the First, from which they gathered sadly so many precious 
fruits ; a larger measure of tenderness of conscience, the 
sense of duty, force of will, trust in God, the love of truth, 
and the spirit of liberty; the successive development 
and growth of opinions, and traits and determinations and 

10 fortunes, by which they were advanced, from Protestants 
to Republicans, from Englishmen to Pilgrims, from Pil- 
grims to the founders of a free Church, and the fathers of 
a free people, in a new world ; the retirement to Holland ; 
the resolution to seek the sphere of their duties, and the 

15 asylum of their rights, beyond the seas ; the embarkation at 
Delft-Haven, — that scene of interest unparalleled, on which 
a pencil of your own has just enabled us to look back with 
tears, and praise, and sympathy, and the fond pride of chil- 
dren ; that scene of few and simple incidents ; the setting 

20 out of a handful of, not then, very famous persons, on a 
voyage, but which, as M^e gaze on it, begins to speak to you 
as with the voices and . melodies of an immortal hymn 
which dilates and becomes idealized into the auspicious 
going forth of a colony, whose planting has changed the 

25 history of the world ; — a noble colony of devout Christians, 
— educated firm men, valiant soldiers, and honorable wo- 
men ; a colony, on the commencement of whose heroic 
enterprise, the selectest influences of religion seemed to be 
descending visibly ; and beyond whose perilous path are 

30 hung the rainbow and the western star of empire ; — the 
voyage of the "May-flower;" the landing; the slow win- 
ter's night of disease and famine, in which so many, the 
good, the beautiful, the brave, sank down and died, giving 
place, at last, to the spring-dawn of health and plenty ; the 

85 meeting with the old red race on the hill beyond the 
brook ; the treaty of peace, unbroken for half a century ; 
the organization of a republican government in the May- 
flower's cabin ; — the planting of these kindred, coeval and 
auxiliary institutions, without which such a government, 

40 could no more live than the uprooted tree can put forth 
leaf or flower, — institutions, to diffuse pure religion, good 
learning, austere morality, the practical arts of administra- 
tion, labor, patience, obedience, " plain living and high 
thinking ;" the securities of conservatism, and the germs 
26 



302 AMERICAN COMMON -SCHOOL [pART II. 

of progress ; the laying deep and sure, far down on the Eock 
of Ages, of the foundation-stones of that imperial structure 
whose dome now swells towards heaven ; the timely 
death, at last, one after another, of the first generation of 
5 the old Pilgrims, not unvisited by visions, as the final hour 
drew nigh, of the more apparent glory of the latter day ; 
all these high, holy, and beautiful things, come thronging, 
fresh on all our memories, beneath the influence of their 
original hour. Such as we heard them from our mothers' 

10 lips ; such as we read them, in the histories of kings, of 
religions, and of liberty ; they gather themselves about us, 
familiar, certainly, — but of an interest that can never die ; 
an interest, intrinsical in themselves, yet heightened inex- 
pressibly by their relations to that eventful future, into 

15 which they have expanded, and through whose light they 
shine. 

And yet, with all this procession of events and persons 
mxoving before us, and solicited this way and that by the 
innumerable trains of speculation and of feeling which 

20 such a sight inspires, we can think of nothing, of nobody, 
— here and now, but the pilgrims, themselves. I cannot, 
and do not wish for a moment to forget that it is their fes- 
tival, we have come to keep. It is their tabernacles we 
have come to build. It is not the reformation, — it is not 

25 colonization ; it is not ourselves, our present, or our future, 
— it is not political economy, or political philosophy, of 
which, to-day, you would have me say a word. We have 
a specific, single duty to perform. We would speak of 
certain valiant, good, peculiar men, — our fathers ! We 

30 would wipe the dust from a few, old, plain, noble urns ; we 
would shun husky disquisitions, irrelevant novelties and 
small display ; would recall, rather the forms and the linea- 
ments of the honored dead ; — forms and features which 
the grave has not changed ; over which the grave has no 

85 power : robed in the vestments, all radiant with the hues 
of an assured immortality ! 



LESSON CLVI. THE SETTLERS OF CONNECTICUT. KENT. 

The policy and the institutions of the settlers of Con- 
necticut, form and display their early national character. 
Their attention to public instruction, civil and religious, 
and their superintending and vigilant care of the morals 
and habits of the people, were doubtless the principal 



PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 303 

means, under Providence, of rendering the colony, in 
every period of its history, free, prosperous, and happy. 
It has been distinguished, above all other communities, for 
the orderly, respectful, and obliging deportment of the 
5 inhabitants ; for their intelligence, industry, and economy ; 
for the purity and solidity of their moral character ; for 
their religious profession and habits ; for the dignity of 
their magistracy, and for unexampled order and decorum 
in the administration of justice. The discretion and pro- 

10 bity which have attended the elections of their rulers, and 
the steadiness with which men in power, and deserving 
of the trust, have been kept in power, even by means of 
annual elections, and in spite of the temptations to change 
which such elections present, is^a singular fact in the his- 

15 tory of civil society, and most honorable to the character 
of the State. 

The people of this State appear to have preserved their 
original manners and character more entire than most 
other people, and in a remarkable degree, considering their 

20 enterprising and commercial disposition. Their young 
men have explored our infant settlements, and penetrated 
the western forests and solitudes ; they have traversed 
foreign lands, and visited the shores and islands of every 
sea, either in search of new abodes, or as the heralds of 

25 science and religion, or the messengers of business and 
commerce. But notwithstanding their migratory spirit, 
the sons of Connecticut have never lost their native attach- 
ments ; — *' their first, best country ever is at home." This 
is partly owing to the force of natural sentiment ; but more 

30 especially, in their case, is it owing to the influence of 
early education, and to the pride, which local institutions 
of so simple and so efficient a character, naturally engen- 
der. And who indeed can resist the feelings which con- 
secrate the place where he was born, the ground where his 

35 ancestors sleep, the hills and haunts lightly trodden in the 
vehemence of youth, and, above all, where stand the classic 
halls, in which early friendships were formed, and the 
young mind was taught to expand and admire ? 

LESSON CLVII. BENEFITS OF COLLEGIATE EDUCATION. JOHN 

SERGEANT. 

An opinion has already been intimated that the benefits 
of early education, continued through the period which 
nature indicates as the time for training and discipline, are 



304 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART II. 

not entirely lost, even though the acquirements in college 
should afterwards be neglected. Wholesome nourishment 
and exercise for the mind, are like wholesome nourishment 
and exercise for the body. They enter into the constitu- 
6 tion, and impart to it general health and strength, and ca- 
pacity for the exertions it may be called upon to make, and 
the trials it may be doomed to suffer. This is especially 
true of childhood and youth, and, as to all that concerns 
our physical condition, is universally admitted, in practice 

10 as well as in theory. The tender infant is not suffered to 
lie in torpid inaction. Its little frame is put in motion in 
its mother's arms. As soon as it can bear exposure, it is 
sent forth to larger exercise in the open air. The boy is 
permitted and encouraged to rejoice in active and invig- 

15 orating sports ; and the youth, quite up to the season of 
manhood, is taught to blend the healthful exertion of his 
sinews and muscles, with the cultivation of his intellectual 
and moral powers. 

Why is this indication of nature thus carefully observed 

20 and obeyed ? Why do parents watch with so much anx- 
ious care over the forming constitution of the body, and 
seek to train it to grace and vigor ? It is because it is 
forming, and the fashion it then receives may more or 
less abide by it ever after. Their anxious care is well be- 

25 stowed. Much of the happiness of life depends upon it, 
and every one is aware that such is the case. Hence it is, 
that gymnastics have been introduced into places of in- 
struction, where feats are performed which no man of full 
age expects ever to repeat, unless it should be his lot to be 

30 a tumbler or a rope-dancer. 

Is there not a precise analogy, in this respect, between 
the two parts of our nature ? Have not the moral and in- 
tellectual faculties a growth, a period of expansion, a sea- 
son for nourishment and direction, when the constitution 

35 of the mind and heart is taking a form like that of the 
body, and when the intellectual and moral capacities are 
to be assisted and trained into a healthy condition ? Are 
there no gymnastics of the mind ? It would be deemed a 
palpable absurdity, if any one were to argue, that a child 

40 was likely to be employed in sedentary occupations, and 
therefore it was not material, that he should have the use 
of his limbs. Is it not still more absurd to use such an 
argument in relation to his higher and better faculties ? It 
is a great calamity to be deprived of sight, — to be unable 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 305 

to behold the glories of the visible creation, and enjoy the 
beauties of art. Is it a less one to be destitute of intel- 
lectual vision, by which we are enabled to " look through 
nature up to nature's God," and to discern glories greater 
5 far than those, great as we must confess them to be, which 
are manifested to the eye of the body ? — by which, too, we 
are enabled to look into ourselves, and there to see the fear- 
ful and wonderful thing we are, and how it is that, from the 
source of infinite wisdom and goodness, there is an emana- 

10 tion of light imparted to us, which we are commanded not 
to allow " to be darkened." 

Surely, surely, these are reflections which ought forever 
to silence the sordid calculation that would bend man's 
whole powers down to the earth, instead of helping him 

15 to grow up towards the heavens. The superincumbent 
weight of the world's business will press heavily enough 
upon him. With all the preparation he can have, and all 
the improvement he can make of it, there is danger that 
he will but seldom be able to raise himself above the thick 

20 fog, that creeps along the ground, and limits his view to 
the objects immediately around him, into the clear region, 
where higher duties and higher enjoyments offer them- 
selves to his attention, — where the spirit may breathe, the 
mind hold communion with intelligence, the affections kin- 

25 die, the charities be nursed, and his whole nature exalted, 
under the quickening influence of the consciousness, that 
he is a man. It is in this consciousness, properly enlight- 
ened, that dwells his real dignity, and in it, too, the sense 
of all his duties. 

30 What parent, then, who has the ability, will withhold 
from his child the means of such instruction and disci- 
pline, in their fullest measure, as may promise to give him 
a moral and intellectual constitution fitted to seize upon, 
and improve the occasions that may arise for purifying and 

35 exalting his nature, and fulfilling all his obligations ? In 
this consists his highest happiness. It will not control the 
course of events. It will not make adverse fortune pros- 
perous, nor the contrary. But, like a wall in the sea, well 
planted and well supported, broad in its foundation, and 

40 carried to its proper height, it will establish a secure and 
quiet retreat from the shocks, both of prosperity and adver- 
sity, to which he may betake himself in the hour of dan- 
gerous trial, and escape the imminent hazard of being 
overwhelmed by either. 

26=^ 



I 



306 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART It. 

LESSON CLVIII. — OUR CONTROL OVER OUR PHYSICAL WELL- 
BEING. HORACE MANN. 

It is a truth fitted to awaken our most fervent gratitude 
to the Author of our existence, that He has placed the 
great conditions of our physical well-being under our own 
control. Of the nature or essence of the vital principle, we 
5 are as yet ignorant. Some of the internal ganglia, also, are 
mysteries to the profoundest science. Of the more subtile 
movements in the interior of the system, we can take no 
available cognizance. These inward vital processes are 
not subject to our volition. The heart will not continue 

10 to beat, nor the blood to flow, at the bidding of the mighti- 
est of the earth. 

The sculpture-like outline of the body ; its gradual and 
symmetrical expansion from infancy to manhood, — every 
day another, yet the same ; the carving and grooving of all 

15 the bones and joints ; the weaving of the muscles into a 
compact and elastic fabric, and their self-lubricating power, 
by which, though pressed together in the closest order and 
crossing each other in all directions, they yet play their 
respective parts, without perceptible friction ; the winding- 

20 up of the heart, so that it will vibrate the seconds of three- 
score years and ten, without repair or alteration ; the chan- 
nelling out of the blood-vessels, more numerous than all 
the rivers of a continent, and so thoroughly permeating 
every part, that there is no desert or waste spot left, where 

25 their fertilizing currents do not flow ; the triple layer of the 
skin, with its infinite reticulations ; the culling, and exact 
depositing, of the material of that most divinely-wrought 
organ, the brain, for whose exquisite workmanship it 
would seem as though air, and light, and heat, and elec- 

30 tricity, had all been sifted and winnowed, and their finest 
particles selected for its composition ; the diflusion of the 
nerves over every part of the frame, along whose darksome 
and attenuated threads, the messengers of the mind pass to 
and fro with the rapidity of lightning; the fashioning of 

35 the vocal apparatus, so simple in its mechanism, and yet 
so varied in its articulation, and its musical range and 
compass ; the hollowing out of the ear, which secures to us 
all the utilities and blessings of social intercourse ; the 
opening of the eye, on whose narrow retina, all the breadth 

40 and magnificence of the universe can be depicted; and, 
finally, the power of converting the coarse, crude, dead 



PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 307 

materials of our food, into sentient tissues, and miracu- 
lously enduing them with the properties of life ;— over all 
these, as well as over various other processes of formation 
and growth, our will has no direct control. They will not 
5 be fashioned, or cease to be fashioned, at our bidding. It 
was in this sense that the question was put, " Which of 
you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? " 
It is not by " taking thought," but by using the prescribed 
means, — by learning and obeying the physical laws, — that 

10 the stature can be made loftier, the muscles more vigorous, 
the senses quicker, the life longer, and the capacity of 
usefulness almost indefinitely greater. 

It is diet, oxygenation of the blood, and personal purity 
or cleanliness, which have the prerogative of accomplish- 

15 ing these objects ; and these are in our power, within our 
legitimate jurisdiction ; and if we perform our part of the 
work, faithfully and fully, in regard to these things, Nature 
will perform her part of the work, faithfully and fully, in 
regard to those subtler and nicer operations which lie 

20 beyond our immediate control. 



LESSOJSr CLIX.— THE INSOLVENT AND THE BANKRUPT. BERRIEN. 

[Extract from Mr. Berrien's speech on the Bankrupt Law.] 

Mr. President, the true and practical mode of testing the 
question of the tendency of this law to produce immoral- 
ity, is to compare the bankrupt and insolvent laws, not in 
the operation of the former, on the mass of insolvencies, 
5 which our neglect of duty has suuered to accumulate, but 
to examine each in its ordinary operation., as a permanent 
portion of a system of jurisprudence. Let us do this 
briefly. 

The bankrupt, when he is declared to be so, either by 

10 his own confession, or the proof adduced by his creditor, is 
instantly divested of all control over his estate. He has no 
hope of relief, but from perfect integrity of conduct, and 
the relief which that promises him, is great and perma- 
nent. It is no less than entire emancipation from his 

15 thraldom. Thus the law presents every stimulus to hon- 
esty, every motive to abstain from fraud. Superadded to 
this, is the knowledge of the fact, that no time affords him 
protection. If he has succeeded in concealing his fraud, 
has obtained his certificate, amassed property, and resumed 

20 the station in life from which he had fallen, that certificate 



308 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART if. 

may be rendered invalid, his newly acquired property may 
be subjected to the claims of his creditors, and he himself 
must be doomed to ignominy, if at any period of his life, 
however remote, a single act of fraud be established against 
5 him. Looking to the ordinary motives of human action, 
these would seem to be safeguards against dishonesty, 
which would be sufficient even for the restraint of bad men. 
What now, sir, is the situation of the insolvent ? His 
most valuable effects have been assigned to the confiden- 

10 tial creditors, who have enabled him to sustain his failing 
credit, and given him an appearance of substance, by which 
he has been able to delude the rest of the community. At 
last, the hour of reckoning comes, but il finds him stripped 
of the means of satisfying even a small portion of the 

15 demands against him. His confidential creditors are safe, 
and therefore indifferent, and so is he. He has committed 
no fraud in the eye of the law, in rendering them so. All 
others are remediless. He is arrested, imprisoned, and, 
without some gross act of fraud, detected during the pro- 

20 cess, is discharged. The boon which is awarded to him, is 
that of dragging out a miserable existence, with the privi- 
lege of locomotion indeed ; but he is destined for life, to be 
the slave of his creditors, living, moving, having his being 
for their benefit. What motive has he for the honest sur- 

25 render of his property, if he has any left, which is covered 
from the view of his creditors ? Why, all his hopes for 
the future, depend upon concealment. He is doomed to a 
life of deception. If he is detected, what then ? He loses 
his adventure, — it is seized by his creditors ; but his dis- 

30 charge is untouched. He may try again. The privilege 
of dragging his wretched limbs from the market to the 
strand, is still accorded to him. 

Look now at the condition of the bankrupt and insol- 
vent^ when the respective processes against them are 

35 closed, and say which is likely to prove the better and 
more upright citizen. The bankrupt has surrendered his 
all. He is poor, nay destitute, penniless; but he is free. 
Aye, there is the charm. He is really, truly free. It is not 
merely the poor privilege of locomotion, which is accorded 

40 to him. His hands are unshackled. The energies of his 
mind are unfettered. He is free to exert them for the 
benefit of those whom nature and affection have endeared 
to him. His recovered freedom is his stimulus. The lesson 
of experience, which adversity has taught him, is his safe- 



PAET n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 309 

guard. The almost utter impracticability of receiving, a 
second time, the boon which has been once accorded to 
him, is his voice of ivarning. Thus stimulated, thus 
guarded, thus warned, he enters upon his new career. If 
5 in this world of trial, which we have divested of its origi- 
nal beauty and loveliness, any man m.ay be delivered from 
temptation, or enabled to resist it by merely human means, 
this man is secure. The path of duty, of uprightness, of 
honesty, which it is the best interest of all to pursue, is 

10 that from which he is without any conceivable motive to 
wander. 

And the insolvent, Mr. President. — w^hat is his condi- 
tion ? He, too, has surrendered his all, at least, all which 
he dare openly claim ; and for what ? To purchase exemp- 

15 tion from imprisonment, or the privilege of departing 
beyond prison bounds. He breathes the free air of heaven, 
but not as a free man. He is still the " doomed slave " of 
his creditor. The fruits of his labor belong to that credi- 
tor, and can only be withheld from him by fraud. The 

20 necessities of a helpless family, appeal to him. The eagle 
eye of his creditor is upon him. He looks upon that cred- 
itor as his enemy. If he be merciless, he is indeed his 
enemy, — the enemy of those, who are dearer to him than 
life, whom he is bound to protect, even at the sacrifice of 

25 life itself. What then ? As an enemy, he fences himself 
against that creditor. He resorts to fraudulent convey- 
ances, to secret trusts, to a regular system of habitual 
deception ; and his children, into whose young minds, it 
would have been, under more propitious circumstances, 

30 his grateful task to have instilled the lessons of virtue, 
are trained up under the blighting influence of that system 
of concealment, to which they are indebted for the comforts 
and conveniences of life. Such is the actual condition of 
multitudes, under the operation of State insolvent laws. 

35 Look at the progress of this operation, and judge of its 
effects on public morals. The discharged insolvent escapes 
from his cell or his prison bounds, to the wretched hovel, 
which benevolence may have secured to him ; for he has 
naught which he can claim as his own, and can acquire no- 

40 thing, which may not be wrested from him, by his creditor. 
The wants of his family call him to labor, and he does 
labor. His earliest efforts are rewarded by the pound of 
beef, and the loaf of bread, with which he appeases their 
hung-er. Even these are filched from his creditor, for the 



310 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11. 

law awards them to him. Your law did award them. But 
there is a public opinion, to the moral force of which, even 
laws must yield ; and the wretched insolvent is secure in 
the enjoyment of these. By and by, he is enabled to pro- 
5 vide some little comforts for his helpless wife and infant 
children. These must be enjoyed by stealth, or the hand 
1 of the creditor may wrest them from his grasp. 

In process of time, his labors are rewarded with the 
means, by which he can do something more than provide 

10 for the present wants of his family. He considers their 

I dependence upon him, and his liability to be taken from 

them ; and the desire to make some provision for the 

future, becomes strong, irresistible. He has no right to 

indulge this desire. His earnings are the property of his 

15 creditor. If they are discovered, the law will give them 
to that creditor. In strict morality, he is bound to yield 
them. But nature and affection urge their own strong 
claims ; and his wife, whose spirit has been broken by ad- 
versity, and his children, who have been reared in penury, 

20 are the advocates, through whom these claims are pre- 
ferred. The appeal may not he resisted. The morality 
which conflicts with it, becomes, in his view, cold, heart- 
less, and unfit to be regarded. He is a man, with the 
affections, and with the imperfections of our common 

25 nature. I speak generally. There are men who would 
hold fast to their integrity, under circumstances however 
trying. But our legislation is, as all legislation must be, 
based upon the rule, not the exception. And so speaking, 
I say, such an appeal is irresistible. The insolvent yields 

30 to it ; he hides his earnings ; he cheats his creditors ; and 
then, with a newly awakened spirit, labors to increase his 
little store. 

The repetition of the fraud is more easy, — habit renders 
it familiar. It becomes the business of his life. There is 

35 an occasional twinge of conscience, but that passes ; now 
and then, a fear of detection, but that is quieted ; till at 
last, all that disturbs him, is the apprehension which seizes 
him, perhaps on his bed of death, that the depository of 
his secret earnings, may be as faithless to his trust, as he 

40 has been to the legal claims of his creditors. Such scenes 
belong to, or rather more frequently occur in, the crowded 
population of our great cities ; more rarely beyond their 
limits. Speaking generally, the air of the country is too 
pure for them. But who doubts their existence, — the fre- 



PART IT.] READER AND SPEAKER. 311 

quent recurrence of this struggle between the claims of 
nature and affection, and the sterner demands of legal 
justice ? And shall we sit here, " deliberating in cold de- 
bates," whether men shall be saved from moral wretched- 
5 ness like this ? 



LESSON CLX. EXTRACT FROM AN ADDRESS DELIVERED AT 

CHAPEL HILL. WM. GASTON. 

Deeply rooted principles of probity, confirmed habits of 
industry, and a determination to rely on one's own exer- 
tion, constitute the great preparation for the discharge 
of the duties of man, and the best security for performing 
5 them with honor to one's self, and benefit to others. But it 
may be asked, what is there in such a life of never-ending 
toil, effort, and privation, to recommend it to the acceptance 
of the young and the gay ? Those who aspire to heroic 
renown, may indeed make up their minds to embrace these 

10 " hard doctrines ; " but it may be well questioned, whether 
happiness is not preferable to greatness, and enjoyment 
more desirable than distinction. Let others, if they will, 
toil up " the steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar ; " 
we choose rather to sport in luxurious ease and careless 

15 glee, in the valley below. 

It is, indeed, on those who aspire to eminence, that these 
injunctions are intended to be pressed with the greatest 
emphasis, not only because a failure in them would be 
more disastrous than in others, but because they are ex- 

20 posed to greater and more numerous dangers of error. 
But it is a sad mistake to suppose, that they are not suited 
to all, and are not earnestly urged upon all, however hum- 
ble their pretensions or moderate their views. Happiness, 
as well as greatness, enjoyment, as well as renown, have 

25 no friends so sure as Integrity, Diligence and Independ- 
ence. 

We are not placed here to waste our days in wanton 
riot or inglorious ease, with appetites perpetually gratified 
and never palled, exempted from all care and solicitude, 

30 with life ever fresh, and joys ever new. He who has fitted 
us for our condition, and assigned to us its appropriate 
duties, has not left his work unfinished, and omitted to 
provide a penalty for the neglect of our obligations. Labor 
is not more the duty, than the blessing of man. Without 

35 it, there is neither mental nor physical vigor, health, cheer- 



312 



AMERICAN COBIMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



fulness nor animation ; neither the eagerness of hope, nor 
the capacity to enjoy. 

Every human being must have some object to engage 
his attention, excite his wishes, and rouse him to action, 

5 or he sinks, a prey to listlessness. For want of proper 
occupations, see strenuous idleness resorting to a thousand 
expedients, — the race-course, the bottle, or the gaming- 
table, the frivolities of fashion, the debasements of sensu- 
ality, the petty contentions of envy, the grovelling pursuits 

10 of avarice, and all the various distracting agitations of vice» 
Call you these enjoyments ? Is such the happiness which 

I it is so dreadful to foreoo ? 



15 



20 



" Vast happiness enjoy thy gay allies ! 
A youth of folly, an old age of cares, 
Young yet enervate, old yet never wise ; 
Vice wastes their vigor and their mind impairs. 
Vain, idle, dissolute, in thoughtless ease, 
Reserving woes for age, their prime they spend; 
All wretched, hopeless, to the evil days, 
With sorrow to the verge of life they tend ; 
Grieved with the present, of the past ashamed ; 
They live and are despised, they die, nor more are named." 



im 



LESSON CLXI. THE LYRE. MILTON WARD. 

There was a lyre, 't is said, that hung 

High waving in the summer air ; 
An angel hand its chords had strung, 

And left to breathe its music there. 
5 Each wandering breeze, that o'er it flew, 

Awoke a wilder, sweeter strain 
Than ever shell of mermaid blew 

In coral grottoes of the main. 
When, sprmging from the rose's bell, 
10 Where all night he had sweetly slept, 

The zephyr left the flowery dell 

Bright with the tears that morning wept, 
He rose, and o'er the trembling lyre. 

Waved lightly his soft azure wing ; 
15 What touch such music could inspire ! 

What harp such lays of joy could sing ! 
The murmurs of the shaded rills. 

The birds, that sweetly warbled by, 
And the soft echo from the hills, 
20 Were heard not where that harp was nigh. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. -^3 

When the last light of fading day 

Along the bosom of the west, 
In colors softly mingled lay 

While night had darkened all the rest, 
5 , Then, softer than that fading light. 

And sweeter than the lay, that rung 
Wild through the silence of the night, 

As solemn Philomela sung, 
That harp its plaintive murmurs sighed 
10 Along the dewy breeze of even ; 

So clear and soft they swelled and died. 

They seemed the echoed songs of heaven. 
Sometimes, when all the air was still. 

And not the poplar's foliage trembled, 
15 That harp was nightly heard to thrill 

With tones, no earthly tones resembled. 
And then, upon the moon's pale beams. 

Unearthly forms were seen to stray, 
Whose starry pinions' trembling gleams 
20 Would oft around the wild harp play. 

But soon the bloom of summer fled, — 

In earth and air it shone no more ; 
Each flower and leaf fell pale and dead, 

While skies their wintry sternness wore. 
25 One day, loud blew the northern blast, 

The tempest's fury raged along. 
Oh ! for some angel, as they passed. 

To shield the harp of heavenly song ! 
It shrieked, — how could it bear the touch, 
30 The cold rude touch of such a storm. 

When e'en the zephyr seemed too much 

Sometimes, though always light and warm! 
It loudly shrieked, — but ah ! in vain ; — 

The savage wind more fiercely blew : 
35 Once more, — it never shrieked again. 

For every chord was torn in two. 
It never thrilled with anguish more, 

Though beaten by the wildest blast; 
The pang, that thus its bosom tore, 
40 Was dreadful, — but it was the last. 

And though the smiles of summer played 

Gently upon its shattered form. 
And the light zephyrs o'er it strayed, 

That Lyre they could not wake or warm. 
27 



314 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



10 



15 



20 



LESSON CLXII. POLISH WAR SON&. JAMES G. PERCIVAL. 

Freedom calls you ! Quick, be ready, — 
Rouse ye in the name of God, — 
Onward, onward, strong and steady, — 
Dash to earth the oppressor's rod. 

Freedom calls ! ye brave ! 

Rise, and spurn the name of slave. 

Grasp the sword ! — its edge is keen. 
Seize the gun ! — its ball is true : 
Sweep your land from tyrant clean, — 
Haste, and scour it through and through ! 

Onward, onward ! Freedom cries, 

Rush to arms, — the tyrant flies. 

By the souls of patriots gone, 
Wake, — arise, — your fetters break, 
Koskiusco bids you on, — 
Sobieski cries awake ! 

Rise, and front the despot czar. 

Rise, and dare the unequal war. 

Freedom calls you ! Quick, be ready, — 
Think of what your sires have been, — 
Onward, onward ! strong and steady, — 
Drive the tyrant to his den. 

On, and let the watchwords be, 

Country, home, and liberty ! 



'HI 



10 



LESSON CLXiii. — BELSHAzzAR. — Geo. Croly. 

Hour of an Empire's overthrow ! 

The princes from the feast were gone; 
The Idol flame was burning low ; — 

'T was midnight upon Babylon. 

That night the feast was wild and high ; 

That night was Sion's gold profaned ; 
The seal was set to blasphemy ; 

The last deep cup of wrath was drained. 

'Mid jewelled roof and silken pall, 
Belshazzar on his couch was flung ; 

A burst of thunder filled the hall, — 

He heard, — but 't was no mortal tongue :■ 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 315 

" King- of the East ! the trumpet calls, 
That calls thee to a tyrant's grave ; 

A curse is on thy palace walls, — 
A curse is on thy guardian wave : 

5 "A surge is in Euphrates' bed, 

That never filled its bed before ; 
A surge, that, ere the morn be red, 

Shall load with death its haughty shore. 

" Behold a tide of Persian steel ! 
10 A torrent of the Median car ; 

Like flame their gory banners wheel ; 
Rise, king, and arm thee for the war ! " 

Belshazzar gazed ; the voice was past, — 
The lofty chamber filled with gloom ; 
15 But echoed on the sudden blast 

The rushing of a mighty plume. 

He listened ; all again was still ; 

He heard no chariot's iron clang ; 
He heard the fountain's gushing rill, 
20 The breeze that through the roses sang. 

He slept ; in sleep wild murmurs came ; 

A visioned splendor fired the sky ; 
He heard Belshazzar's taunted name ; 

He heard again the Prophet cry, — 

25 " Sleep, Sultan ! 't is thy final sleep, 

Or wake, or sleep, the guilty dies. 
The wrongs of those Avho watch and weep, 
Around thee and thy nation rise." 

He started ; 'mid the battle's yell, 
30 He saw the Persian rushing on : 

He saw the flames around him swell ; 
Thou 'rt ashes ! King of Babylon. 



LESSON CLXiv. — elijah's INTERVIEW. — Thomos Campbell. 

On Horeb's rock the prophet stood, — 

The Lord before him passed ; 
A hurricane in angry mood 

Swept by him strong and fast ; 



316 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II, 

The forest fell before its force, 

The rocks were shivered in its course : 

God was not in the blast : 
'T was but the whirlwind of his breath, 
5 Announcing danger, wreck, and death. 

It ceased. The air grew mute, — a cloud 

Came, muffling up the sun, 
When, through the mountain, deep and loud, 

An earthquake thundered on ; 
10 The frighted eagle sprang in air, 

The wolf ran howling from his lair ; 

God was not in the storm : 
'T was but the rolling of his car. 
The trampling of his steeds from far. 

15 'T was still again, — and Nature stood 

And calmed her ruffled frame ; 
When swift from heaven a fiery flood 

To earth devouring came ; 
Down to the depth the ocean fled, — 
20 The sickening sun looked wan and dead ; 

Yet God filled not the flame ; 
'T was but the terror of his eye, 
That lightened through the troubled sky. 

At last, a voice all still and small, 
25 Eose sweetly on the ear ; 

Yet rose so shrill and clear, that all 
In heaven and earth might hear ; 

It spoke of peace, it spoke of love, 

It spoke as angels speak above ; 
30 And God himself was there ; 

For Oh! it was ?i father's voice, 

That bade the trembling heart rejoice. 



LESSON CLXV. DAME NATURE S CHARMS. WM. C. LODGE. 

I love to pause, in life's cold rugged way, 
And muse on Nature in her various forms ; 

Divest her of that seeming dark array, 

And thus expose to view her fairest charms : 
) For she is ever beautiful and bright. 

When rightly seen, in wild or calmer mood, 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 317 



In sunny day, or sable garb of night, 
In busy haunts, or quiet solitude. 



Oh ! my delight has ever been to roam, — 
A feather, tossed on fortune's fickle wave, 
5 Away from friends, from kindred, and from home, 
The cold repulses of the world to brave. 
And when by life's attending ills oppressed, 

Dear Nature, I would ever turn to thee, 
For in thy smiles the troubled find a rest, 
10 A soothing cordial in thy harmony. 

I 've danced upon the trackless ocean wave, 

When wild winds held unfettered revelry. 
And heaven's loud peals the thundering chorus gave 

To the rude tempest's dirge-like minstrelsy. 
15 Then wings the soul its airy flight along. 

Like lightning glancing o'er the jewelled spray, 
And leaps to join the revel and the song. 

And cast the thoughts and things of earth away. 

And I have wooed her in her sober hours, 
20 Amid her native wilds of solitude, 

"When twilight has revealed its mystic powers. 

And cast its spells o'er river, vale, and wood ; 

'T is this resolves the passions into thought. 

And tinges reason with a purer flame, 

25 And shows proud man that all his art is nought, 

His boasted honors but an empty name. 

The sunny south, the clime of fruits and flowers. 
In one eternal vesture of sweet smiles, 

Where laughing streamlets leap 'midst shady bowers, 
30 And wild birds' song the sportive breeze beguiles ; 

And the bare mountains of the north, where storms. 
And the rude storm-king, hold a fearful sway. 

Have all their fierce or soul-subduing charms. 
To cheer life's path, and drive its cares away. 

35 Man often clouds with vain or fancied ills, 

His narrow span, when Nature's stainless light 
Dispenses only happiness, and fills 

The world with things so beautiful and bright; 
Her plains, her mountains, and her valleys, teem 
40 With living verdure in the fairest dress; 
And ocean, river, lake, and singing stream, 
Combine to harmonize her loveliness. 
27^ 



318 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II, 

LESSON CLXVI.— NIGHT IN EDEN. MRS. E. H. EVANS. 

'T was moonlight in Eden ! Such moonlight, I vveea, 
As never again on this earth shall be seen, — 
So soft fell the radiance, — so wondrously blue 
Was the sky, with its star-enthroned angels in view ! 

5 How bright was the bower where the fair-fingered Eve, 
The blossoming garlands delighted to weave ; 
While the rose caught its blush from her cheek's living dye, 
And the violet its hue from her love-lighted eye. 

There, lulled by the murmurs of musical streams, 
10 And charmed by the rainbow- winged spirit of dreams, — 
The ej'-es softly closed that so soon were to weep, — 
Our parents reposed in a bliss-haunted sleep. 

" But other forms gazed on the grandeur of night, 

And beings celestial grew glad at the sight ; 
15 All w^arm from the glow of their arober-hued skies, 
How strange seemed the shadows of earth to their eyes ! 

There, azure-robed beauty, with rapture-lit smile, 
Her golden wings folded, reclined for a while ; 
And the Seraph of Melody breathed but a word, 
20 Then listened entranced at the echoes she heard : 

From mountain and forest an organ-like tone, 
- From hill-top and valley a mellower one ; 
Stream, fountain, and fall, whispered low to the sod. 
For the word that she spoke was the name of our God ! 

25 With blushes like Eden's own rose in its bloom, 
Her censor slow wafting ambrosial perfume, — 
With soft-veiling tresses of sunny-hued hair. 
The spirit of fragrance breathed sweet on the air. 

Then first on the ears of the angels of light, 
30 Rose the singing of birds that enchanted the night, — 
For the breezes are minstrels in Heaven^ they say. 
And the leaves and the flowers have a musical play. 

iiiiiil 

nii Each form of creation with joy was surveyed, 

■I; From the gentle gazelle to the kings of the glade ; 

I' 35 And lily-crowned Innocence gazed in the eyes 

Of the thunder-voiced lion, with smiling surprise. 



PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 319 

All night, as if stars were deserting their posts, 
The heavens were bright with the swift-coming hosts ! 
While the sentinel mountains, in garments of green, 
With glory-decked foreheads, like monarchs were seen. 

5 O Eden, fair Eden ! where now is thy bloom ? 

And where are the pure ones that wept o'er thy doom ? 
Their plumes never lighten our shadowy skies, 
Their voices no more on earth's breezes arise. 

But joy for the faith that is strong in its powers, — 
10 A fairer and better land yet shall be ours ; 

When Sin shall be vanquished, and Death yield his prey, 
And earth with her nations Jehovah obey. 

Then, nobler than Adam, — more charming than Eve, — 
The Son of the Highest his palace shall leave,— 
15 While the saints who adored Him arise from the tomb, 
At the triumph-strain, telling "His Kingdom is come!" 



LESSON CLXVII. ^THE PRESENT AGE. DANIEL WEBSTER. 

We live in a most extraordinary age. Events so 
various and so important, that they might crowd and 
distinguish centuries, are, in our times, compressed with- 
in the compass of a single life. When has it happened 
5 that history has had so much to record, in the same term 
of years, as since the 17th of June, 1775 ? Our own 
revolution, which, under other circumstances, might itself 
have been expected to occasion a war of half a century, 
has been achieved ; twenty-four sovereign and indepen- 

10 dent states erected ; and a general government established 
over them, so safe, so wise, so free, so practical, that we 
might well wonder its establishment should have been 
accomplished so soon, were it not far the greater wonder, 
that it should have been established at all. 

15 Two or three millions of people have been augmented 
to twelve ; and the great forests of the west prostrated 
beneath the arm of successful industry ; and the dwellers 
on the banks of the Ohio, and the Mississippi, become the 
fellow-citizens and neighbors of those who cultivate the 

20 hills of New England. We have a commerce that leaves 
no sea unexplored ; navies, which take no law from supe- 
rior force ; revenues, adequate to all the exigencies of 






320 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

government, almost without taxation ; and peace with all 
nations, founded on equal rights and mutual respect. 

Europe, within the same period, has been agitated by a 
mighty revolution, which, while it has been felt in the 
5 individual condition and happiness of almost every man, 
has shaken to the centre her political fabric, and dashed 
against one another thrones which had stood tranquil for 
ages. On this, our continent, our own example has been 
followed ; and colonies have sprung up to be nations. 

10 Unaccustomed sounds of liberty and free government, have 
reached us from beyond the track of the sun ; and, at this 
moment, the dominion of European power, in this conti- 
nent, from the place where we stand, to the south pole, is 
annihilated forever. 

15 In the meantime, both in Europe and America, such 
has been the. general progress of knowledge ; such the 
improvements in legislation, in commerce, in the arts, in 
letters, and, above all, in liberal ideas, and the general 
spirit of the age, that the whole world seems changed. 



LESSON CLXVin. — MELANCHOLY FATE OF THE INDIANS. 

JOSEPH STORY. 

There is, indeed, in the fate of these unfortunate beings, 
much to awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb the 
sobriety of our judgment; much which may be urged to 
excuse their own atrocities ; much in their characters, 
5 which betrays us into an involuntary admiration. What 
can be more melancholy than their history ? By a law of 
their nature, they seem destined to a slow, but sure extinc- 
tion. Everywhere, at the approach of the white man, they 
fade away. We hear the rustling of their footsteps, like 

10 that of the withered leaves of autumn ; and they are gone 
forever. They pass mournfully by us, and they return no 
more. 

Two centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams, and 
the fires of their councils, rose in every valley, from Hud- 

15 son's Bay to the farthest Florida, from the ocean to the 
Mississippi and the lakes. The shouts of victory and the 
war-dance, rung through the mountains and the glades. 
The thick arrows and deadly tomahawk, whistled through 
the forests ; and the hunter's trace, and the dark encamp- 

20 ment, startled the wild beasts in their lairs. 

The warriors stood forth in their glory. The young 



FART II.] READER AND SPEAEES, 3^1. 

listened to the songs of other da3?^^s. The mothers played 
with their infants, and gazed on the scene with warm 
hopes of the future. The aged sat down ; but they wept 
not. They should soon be at rest in fairer regions, where 
5 the Great Spirit dwelt, in a home prepared for the brave, 
beyond the western skies. Braver men never lived ; truer 
men never drew the bow. They had courage, and forti- 
tude, and sagacity, and perseverance, beyond most of the 
human race. They shrunk from no dangers ; and they 

10 feared no hardships. 

If they had the vices of savage life, they had the virtues 
also. They were true to their country, their friends, and 
their homes. If they forgave not injury, neither did they 
forget kindness. If their vengeance was terrible, their 

15 fidelity and generosity were unconquerable also. Their 
love, like their hate, stopped not on this side of the grave- 
But v/here are they ? Where are the villages, and w^ar- 
riors, and youth ? The sachems, and the tribes ? The 
hunters, and their families ? They ha\^e perished. They 

SO are consumed. The wasting pestilence has not alone done 
the mighty work. No, — nor famine, nor war. There 
has been a mightier power, a moral canker, which hath 
eaten into their heart-cores, — a plague, which the touch of 
the white man communicated, — a poison, which betrayed 

25 them into a lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic 
fan not a single region, w^hich they may now call their 
own. 

Already the last feeble remnants of the race are prepar- 
ing for their journey beyond the Mississippi. I see them 

SO leave their miserable homes, the aged, the helpless, the 
women, and the warriors, " few and faint, yet fearless 
still." The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The 
smoke no longer curls round their lowly cabins. They 
move on with a slow, unsteady step. The white man is 

So upon their heels, for terror or despatch ; but they heed 
him not. They turn to take a last look of their deserted 
villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their 
fathers. They shed no tears ; they utter no cries ; they 
heave no groans. 

40 There is something in their hearts which passes speech. 
There is something in their looks, not of vengeance or 
submission, but of hard necessity, which stifles both ; 
which chokes all utterance ; which has no aim or method. 
It is courage, absorbed in despair. They linger but for a 



322 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



moment. Their look is onward. They have passed the 
fatal stream. It shall never be re-passed by them, — no, 
never. Yet there lies not between us and them an im- 
passable gulf. They know, and feel, that there is for 
them still one remove farther, not distant, nor unseen. It 
is to the general burial-ground of their race. 



LESSON CLXIX.— EDMUND BTJRKE. A. H. EVERETT. 

A sagacious critic has advanced the opinion, that the 
merit of Burke was almost Vv^hoIIy literary ; but, I confess, 
I see little ground for this assertion, if literary excellence 
is here understood in any other sense, than as an imme- 
5 diate result of the highest intellectual and moral endow- 
ments. Such compositions, as the writings of Burke, sup- 
pose, no doubt, the fine taste, the command of language, 
and the finished education, which are all supposed by 
every description of literary success. But, in the present 

10 state of societ)^, these qualities are far from being uncom- 
mon ; and are possessed by thousands, who make no pre- 
tensions to the eminence of Burke, in the same degree, in 
which they were by him. Such a writer as Cumberland, 
for example, who stands infinitely below Burke, on the 

15 scale of intellect, may yet be regarded as his equal or su- 
perior, in purely literary accomplishments, taken in this 
exclusive sense. 

The style of Burke is undoubtedly one of the most 
splendid forais, in which the English language has ever 

20 been exhibited. It displays the happy and difficult union 
of all the richness and magnificence that good taste admits, 
with a perfectly easy consti-uction. In Burke, we see the 
manly movement of a well-bred gentleman ; in Johnson, 
an equally profound and vigorous thinker, the measured 

25 march of a grenadier. We forgive the great moralist his 
stiff and cumbrous phrases, in return for the rich stores of 
thought and poetry which they conceal ; but we admire in 
Burke, as in a fine antique statue, the grace with which 
the large flowing robe adapts itself to the majestic dignity 

30 of the person. 

But, with all his literary excellence, the peculiar merits 
of this great man were, perhaps, the faculty of profound and 
philosophical thought, and the moral courage which led 
him to disregard personal inconvenience, in the expression 

35 of his sentiments. Deep thought is the informing soul, 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 323 

that everywhere sustains and inspires the imposing gran- 
deur of his eloquence. Even in the Essay on the Sub- 
lime and Beautiful, the only work of pure literature which 
he attempted, that is, the only one which was not an im- 
5 mediate expression of his views on public affairs, there is 
still the same richness of thought, the same basis of " di- 
vine philosophy," to support the harmonious superstructure 
of the language. And the moral courage, which formed 
so remarkable a feature in his character, contributed not 

10 less essentially to his literary success. 

It seems to be a law of nature, that the highest de- 
gree of eloquence demands the union of the noblest 
qualities of character, as well as intellect. To think, is 
the highest exercise of the mind ; to say what you think, 

15 the boldest effort of moral courage ; and both these things 
are required, for a really powerful writer. Eloquence, 
without thoughts, is a mere parade of words ; and no man 
can express, with spirit and vigor, any thoughts but his 
own. This was the secret of the eloquence of Rousseau, 

20 which is not without a certain analogy, in its forms, to that 
of Burke. The principal of the Jesuits' college one day 
inquired of him, by what art he had been able to write so 
well; ^^ I said what I thought,'' replied the unceremonious 
Genevan; conveying, in these few words, the bitterest 

25 satire on the system of the Jesuits, and the best explana- 
tion of his own. 



LESSON CLXX. NATIONAL SELF-RESPECT. BEMAN. 

Far be it from me to cherish, in any shape, a spirit of 
national prejudice, or to excite, in others, a disgusting na- 
tional vanity. But, when I reflect upon the part which 
this country is probably to act in the renovation of the 
5 world, I rejoice that I am a citizen of this great republic. 
This western continent has, at different periods, been the 
subject of every species of transatlantic abuse. In former 
days, some of the naturalists of Europe told us, that every- 
thing here was constructed upon a small scale. The 

10 frowns of nature were represented, as investing the whole 
hemisphere we inhabit. It has been asserted, that the 
eternal storms, which are said to beat upon the brows of 
our mountains, and to roll the tide of desolation at their 
bases, — the hurricanes which sweep our vales, and the 

15 volcanic fires which issue from a thousand flaming cra- 
ters, — the thunderbolts which perpetually descend from 



S24 AMERICAN COMMON-SGEOOL [PART !!<, 

heaven, and the eaithqaakes, whose trepidations are felt 
to the very centre of aar globe, have superinduced a 
degeneracy, through all the productions of nature. Men 
have been frightened into intellectual dwarfs ; and the 
5 beasts of the forest have not attained more than half their 
ordinary growth T 

While some of the lines and touches of this picture have 
been blotted out, by the revei-sing hand of time, others have 
been added, which have, in some respects, carried the con- 

10 ceit still farther. In later days, and, in some instances, even 
down to the present period, it has been published and re- 
published from the enlightened presses of the old world, that 
so strong is the tendency to deterioration on this continent, 
that the descendants of European ancestors are far inferior 

15 to the original stock, from which they sprang. But inferior 
in what ? In national spirit and patriotic achievement? Let 
the revolutionary conflict, — the opening scenes at Boston, 
and the catastrophe at Yorktown, — furnish the reply. Let 
Bennington and Saratoga support their respective claims. 

20 Inferior in enterprise ? Let the sail that whitens every 
ocean, and the commercial spirit that braves every element, 
and visits every bustling mart, refute the unfounded as- 
persion. Inferior in deeds of zeal and valor for the church? 
Let our missionaries in the bosom of our own forest, in the 

25 distant regions of the east, and on the islands of the great 
Pacific, answer the question. Inferior in science, and let- 
ters, and the arts ? It is true our nation is young; but we 
may challenge the world to furnish a national maturity, 
which, in these respects, will compare with ours. 

30 The character and institutions of this country, have 
already produced a deep impression upon the world we 
inhabit. What, but our example, has stricken the chains 
of despotism from the provinces of South America, — giv- 
ing, by a single impulse, freedom to half a hemisphere ? 

85 A Washington here, has created a Bolivar there. The 
flag of independence, which has long waved from the sum- 
mit of our Alleghany, has now been answered by a corre- 
sponding signal, from the heights of the Andes. And the 
same spirit, too, that came across the Atlantic wave with 

40 the pilgrims, and made the rock of Plymouth the corner- 
stone of freedom, and of this republic, is travelling back to 
the east. It has already carried its influence into the cab- 
inets of princes ; and it is, at this moment, sung by the 
Grecian bard, and emulated by the Grecian hero. 



ttiliir 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. d$5 

LESSON CLXXI, ^INTERNAL IMPROVEMENT. J. C. CALHOUN. 

On this subject of national power, what can be more 
important than a perfect unity in every part, in feelings 
and sentiments ? And what can tend more powerfully to 
produce it, than overcoming the effects of distance ? No 
5 country, enjoying freedom, ever occupied anything like as 
great an extent of country as this republic. One hundred 
years ago, the most profound philosophers did not believe 
it to be even possible. They did not suppose it possible, 
that a pure republic could exist on as great a scale, even 

10 as the island of Great Britain. 

What then was considered as chimerical, we have now 
the felicity to enjoy ; and what is most remarkable, such 
is the happy mould of our government, so well are the 
state and general powers blended, that much of our politi- 

15 cal happiness draws its origin from the extent of our 
republic. It has exempted us from most of the causes 
which distracted the small republics of antiquity. Let it 
not, however, be forgotten, let it be forever kept in mind, 
that it exposes us to the greatest of all calamities, — next 

20 to the loss of liberty, and even to that in its consequences, 
— disunion. 

We are great, and rapidly, I was about to say fear- 
fully, growing. This is our pride and our danger, our 
weakness and our strength. Little does he deserve to be 

25 intrusted with the liberties of this people, who does not 
raise his mind to these truths. We are under the most 
imperious obligations to counteract every tendency to dis- 
union. The strongest of all cement, is, undoubtedly, the 
wisdom, justice, and, above all, the moderation of this 

30 House ; yet the great subject on which we are now delib- 
erating, in this respect, deserves the most serious con- 
sideration. 

Whatever impedes the intercourse of the extremes with 
this, the centre of the republic, weakens the union. The 

35 more enlarged the sphere of commercial circulation, the 
more extended that of social intercourse ; the more 
strongly we are bound together, the more inseparable are 
our destinies. Those who understand the human heart 
best, know how powerfully distance tends to break the 

40 sympathies of our nature. Nothing, not even dissimi- 
larity of language, tends more to estrange man from man. 
Let us, then, bind the republic together, with a perfect 
28 



326 ABiEHicAN coMMOi<r-sciro-oL [fart m 

system of roads and canals. Let us conqner space. It is 
thus, the most distant part of the republic will be brought 
within a few days' travel of the centre ; it is thus, that a 
citizen of the west will read the new^ of Boston, still 
5 moist from the press. 



LESSON CLXXII, F0IT]?IDSRS OF OUE GOVERNMENT.— 

WM. M. RICHARDSON. 

The love of liberty has always been the ruling passion 
of our nation. It was mixed at first with the "purple 
tide" of the founders' lives, and, circulating with that tide 
through ail their veins, has descended down through 
5 every generation of their posterity, marking every feature 
of our country's glorious story. May it continue thus to 
circulate and descend to the remotest period of time ! 

Oppressed and persecuted in their native country, the 
high, indignant spirit of our fathers, formed the bold design 

10 of leaving a land, where minds, as well as bodies, were 
chained, for regions where Freedom might be found to 
dwell, though her dwelling should prove to be amid wilds 
and wolves, or savages less hospitable than wilds and 
wolves ! An ocean three thousand miles wide, with its 

15 winds and its waves, rolled in vain between them and 
liberty. They performed the grand enterprise, and landed 
on this then uncultivated shore. Here, on their first 
arrival, they found 

The wilderness '^ all before them, where to choose 
20 Their place of rest; and Providence their guide." 

Their courage and industry soon surmounted all the 
difficulties incident to a new settlement. The savages 
retired, the forests were exchanged for fields waving with 
richest harvests, and the dreary haunts of wild beasts, for 

25 the cheerful abodes of civilized man. Increasing in 
wealth and population, with a rapidity which excited the 
astonishment of the old world, our nation flourished about 
a century and a half, when England, pressed down with 
the enormous weight of accumulating debts, and consider- 

30 ing the inhabitants of these States as slaves, who owed 
their existence and preservation to her care and protection, 
now began to form the unjust, tyrannical, and impolitic 
plan of taxing this country, without its consent. The 
right of taxation, however, not being relinquished, but the 



KART II.3 SEA1>EB. AND SPEAKER. 327 

same princif le under a different shape being piirsued, the 
AWFUL GENIUS OF FREEDOM aiose, not with the ungovernable 
ferocity of the tiger, to tear and devour, but with the cool, 
determined, persevering courage of the H©n, who, disdain- 
S ing to be a slave, resists the chain. As liberty was the 
©bject ©f contest, that being secured, the offer ^f peace 
was joyfully accepted ; and peace was restored to free, 
■united^ independent Columbia ! 



LESSON CLXXIII. CONDUCT OF THE OPTOSITION. HENRY CLAY, 

[Extract from a S;peeck on the new Army Bill] 

If g€Rtiemen would only reseri^e for their own gover-n- 
•ment, half the sensibility which is indulged for that of 
Oi^eat Britain, they would find much less to condemn. 
Restriction after restriction has been tried ^ negotiation 
S has been resorted to, until further negotiation would have 
been disgraceful. Whilst these peaceful experiments arse 
undergoing a trial, what is the conduct of the opposition ? 
They are the champions of war ; the proud, the spirited, 
the sole repository of the nation's honor, the men of exclu- 

10 sive vigor and energy. The administration on the con- 
trary, is weak, feeble, and pusillanimous, — "incapable of 
being kicked into a ¥/ar." The maxim, "not a cent for 
tribute, millions for defence," is leudly proclaimed. Is 
the administration for negotiation ? The opposition is 

15 tired, sick, disgusted with negotiation. They wish to 
draw the sword and avenge the nation's wrongs. WheH, 
however, foreign nations, perhaps emboldened by the very 
opposition here made, refuse to listen to the amiable 
appeals, which have been repeated and reiterated by the 

20 administration, to their justice and to their interests ; 
when, in fact, war with one of them has become identified 
with our independence and our sovereignty, and to ab- 
stain from it was no longer possible ; behold the opposi- 
tion veering round, and becoming the friends of peace and 

25 commerce. They tell you of the calamities of war, its 
tragical events, the squandering away of your resources, 
the waste of the public treasure, and the spilling of inno- 
cent blood. "Gorgons, hydras, and chimeras dire !" They 
tell you that honor is an illusion ! Now we see them 

30 exhibiting the terrific forms of the roaring king of the 
forest: now the meekness and humility of the lamb! 



11 



328 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pAKT I& 

They are for war and no restrictions, when the adminis- 
tration is for peaxe. They are for peace and restrictions, 
when the administration is for war. You find them, sir, 
tacking with every gale, displaying the colors of every 
5 party, and of all nations, steady only in one unalterable 
purpose, — to steer, if possible, into the haven of power. 



I*ESSON CLXXIV. — EFFECTS OF PROTESTANTISM, HAVEN. 

It has frequently been remarked, by those who have 
reasoned most profoundly upon the constitution of society, 
that the human mind has never, in modern times, attained 
its full and perfect maturity, but among the protestant 
5 nations of Christendom. In reviewing the splendid career 
of human intelligence, during the three last centuries, it is 
impossible not to ascribe much of its progress to the refor- 
mation of Luther. That great man gave an impulse to 
society, which it has ever since preserved. He taught 

10 men to examine, to reason, to inquire. He unfolded, to 
their wondering gaze, a form of moral beauty, which had 
been too long shrouded from their eyes, by the timid dog- 
matism of the papal church. 

It is to protestant Christianity, that you who hear me, are 

35 indebted for the noblest exercise of your rational powers. 
It is to protestant Christianity, that you owe the vigor of 
your intellectual exertions, and the purity of your moral 
sentiments. I could easily show you, how much the 
manliness of English literature, and the fearless intre- 

20 pidity of German speculation, and how much, even of the 
accurate sciences of France, may be ascribed to the spirit 
of protestant Christianity. It is from the influence of this 
spirit, that the sublime astronomy of La Place, has not 
been, like that of Galileo, condemned, as heretical. It is 

25 to protestant Christianity, that you owe the English Bible ; 

a volume, that has done more to correct and refine the 

taste, to elevate the imagination, to fill the mind with 

^ splendid and glowing images, than all the literature 

which the stream of time has brought down to the present 

30 age. I hope I am not laying an unhallowed hand upon 
the ark of God, if I presume to recommend the Bible to 
you, as an object of literary enthusiasm. The Bible ! — 
Where, in the compass of human literature, can the fancy 
be so elevated by sublime description, can the heart be so 

35 warmed by simple, una-ffected tenderness? Men of ge- 



PART n.] UEADER AND SPEAKER. 

nius ! who delight in bold and magnificent speculation, in 
the Bible you have a new world of ideas opened to your 
range. Votaries of eloquence ! in the Bible you will find 
the grandest thoughts clothed in a simple majesty, worthy 
5 of the subject and the Author. Servants of God ! I need 
not tell you that the glories of immortality are revealed in 
language which mortal lips had never before employed ! 
But I forbear. The Bible is in your hands ; and even 
now, while I am speaking its praise, *'it is silently fulfill- 
10 ing its destined course ;" it is raising many a heart to 
the throne of God. 



LESSON CLXxv. — CRESCENTius. — Miss Laudofi, 

I looked upon his brow, — no sign 

Of guilt or fear was there ; 
He stood as proud by that death-shrine, 

As even o^er despair 
5 He had a power ; in his eye 

There was a quenchless energy, 

A spirit that could dare 
The deadliest form that death could take, 
And dare it for the daring's sake. 

10 He stood, the fetters on his hand,— 

He raised them haughtily ; 
And had that grasp been on the brand. 

It could not wave on high 
With freer pride than it waved now. 
15 Around he looked with changeless brow 

On many a torture nigh, — 
The rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel, 
And, worst of all, his own red steel. 

I saw him once before ; he rode 

20 Upon a coal-black steed, 

And tens of thousands thronged the road, 

And bade their warrior speed. 
His helm, his breastplate, were of gold, 
And graved with many a dint, that told 

25 Of many a soldier's deed ; 

The sun shone on his sparkling mail, 
And danced his snow-plume on the gale. 
28^ 



330 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT 11, 

But now he stood, chained and alone, 

The headsman by his side ; 
The plume, the helm, the charger gone ; 

The sword, that had defied 
5 The mightiest, lay broken near. 

And yet no sign or sound of fear 

Came from that lip of pride ; 
And never king or conqueror's brow 
Wore higher look than his did now. 

10 He bent beneath the headsman's stroke. 

With an uncovered eye : 
A wild shout from the numbers broke 

Who thronged to see him die. 
It was a people's loud acclaim, 
15 The voice of anger and of shame, 

A nation's funeral cry, — 
Eome's wail above her only son, 
Her patriot, — and her latest one. 



■ 



LESSON CLXXvi. — ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. — Barry CoTTiwaU^ 

O thou vast Ocean ! ever-sounding sea I 

Thou symbol of a drear immensity ! 

Thou thing that windest round the solid world 

Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled 
5 From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone. 

Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone. 

Thy voice is like the thunder ; and thy sleep 

Is like a giant's slumber, loud and deep. 

Thou speakest in the east and in the west 
10 At once ; and on thy heavily laden breast 

Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life 

Or motion, yet are moved and meet in strife. 

The earth hath naught of this ; nor chance nor change 

Ruffles its surface ; and no spirits dare 
15 Give answer to the tempest-waken air ; 

But o'er its wastes, the weakly tenants range 

At will, and wound his bosom as they go. 

Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow ; 

But in their stated round the seasons come 
20 And pass like visions to their viewless home. 

And come again and vanish : the young Spring 

Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming, 



PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. ^^^ 

And winter always winds his sullen horn, 
And the wild Autumn with a look forlorn 
Dies in his stormy manhood ; and the skies 
Weep, and flowers sicken when the summer flies. 

5 Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power, 

A will, a voice ; and in thy wrathful hour, 
When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds, 
A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds 
Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven 
10 Backwards and forwards by the shifting wind, 
How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind, 
And stretch thine arms, and war at once with heaven ! 

Thou trackless and immeasurable main ! 

On thee no record ever lived again 
15 To meet the hand that writ it ; line nor lead 

Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps, 

Where happily the huge monster swells and sleeps, 

King of his watery limit, who, 't is said, 

Can move the mighty ocean into storm. — 
20 Oh ! wonderful thou art, great element : 

And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent, 

And lovely in repose : thy summer form 

Is beautiful ; and when thy silver waves 

Make music in earth's dark and winding caves, 
25 I love to wander on thy pebbled beach, 

Marking the sunlight at the evening hour, 

And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach,—- 

"Eternity, Eternity, and power." 



LESSON CLXXVII. THE URSA MAJOR. HENRY WARE, JUN. 

With what a stately and majestic step 
That glorious Constellation of the North 
Treads its eternal circle ! going forth 
Its princely way amongst the stars in slow 
5 And silent brightness. Mighty one, all hail ! 
I joy to see thee on thy glowing path 
Walk, like some stout and girded giant, — stern, 
Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot 
Disdains to loiter on its destined way. 

10 The other tribes forsake their midnight track. 

And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave. 



332 



a:\iericain common-school 



[part ii. 



But thou dost never close thy burning eye, 
Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on, 
While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds 
Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds. 
5 The near horizon tempts to rest in varin. 
Thou, faithful Sentinel, dost never quit 
Thy long appointed watch ; but, sleepless still, 
Dost guard the fixed light of the universe. 
And bid the North forever know its place. 

10 Ages have witnessed thy devoted trust, 

Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God 
Sent forth that shout of joy, which rang through heaven, 
And echoed from the outer spheres that bound 
The illimitable universe, — thy voice 

15 Joined the high chorus ; from thy radiant orbs 
The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise 
Who thus had cast another sparkling gem, 
Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd 
Of splendors that enrich his firmament. 

20 As thou art now, so wast thou then, the same. 

Ages have rolled their course, and Time grown gray ; 
The earth has gathered to her womb again, 
And yet again, the myriads that were born 
Of her, — uncounted, unremembered tribes. 
25 The seas have changed their beds, — the eternal hills 
Have stooped with age, — the solid continents 
Have left their banks, — and man's imperial works, 
The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had flung 
Their haughty honors in the face of Heaven, 
As if immortal, — have been swept away, — 
Shattered and mouldering, buried and forgot. 
But time has shed no dimness on thy front, 
Nor touched the firmness of thy tread ; youth, strength, 
And beauty, still are thine, — as clear, as bright, 
As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth. 
Beautiful offspring of his curious skill. 
To watch earth's northern beacon, and proclaim 



30 



35 



The eternal chori 



Eternal Love. 



I wonder as I gaze. That stream of light, 
40 Undimmed, unquenched, — just as I see it now, — 
Has issued from those dazzling points, through years 



PAET n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 3^ 

That go back far into eternity. 
Exhaustless flood ! forever spent, renewed 
Forever ! Yea, and those refulgent drops, 
Which now descend upon my lifted eye, 
5 Left their far fountain twice three years ago. 

While those winged particles, — whose speed outstrips 
The flight of thought, — were on their way, the earth 
Compassed its tedious circuit round and round, 
And in the extremes of annual change, beheld 
10 Six autumns fade, six springs renew their bloom. 
So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve ; 
So vast the void through which their beams descend I 

Yea, glorious lamps of God ! He may have quenched 
Your ancient flames, and bid eternal night 

15 Rest on your spheres ; and yet no tidings reach 
This distant planet. Messengers still come 
Laden with your far fire, and we may seem 
To see your lights still burning ; while their blaze 
But hides the black wreck of extinguished realms, 

20 Where anarchy and darkness long have reigned. 

Yet what is this, which, to the astonished mind, 
Seems measureless, and which the baffled thought 
Confounds ? A span, a point, in those domains, 
Which the keen eye can traverse. Seven stars 
25 Dwell in that brilliant cluster, and the sight 
Embraces all at once ; yet each from each 
Recedes as far as each of them from earth. 
And every star from every other burns 
No less remote. 

30 From the profound of heaven, 

Untravelled even in thought, keen piercing rays 
■ Dart through the void, revealing to the sense 
Systems and worlds unnumbered. Take the glass, 
And search the skies. The opening skies pour down 

35 Upon your gaze, thick showers of sparkling fire, — 
Stars, crowded, thronged, in regions so remote 
That their swift beams, — the swiftest things that be, — 
Have travelled centuries on their flight to earth. 
Earth, Sun, and nearer Constellations ! what 

40 Are ye, amid this infinite extent 

And multitude of God's most infinite works ? 



334 AIVIERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET ] 

And these are Suns ! — vast, central, living fires, 
Lords of dependent systems, Kings of worlds, 
That wait as satellites upon their power, 
And flourish in their smile. Awake my soul, 
5 And meditate the wonder ! Countless suns 

Blaze round thee, leading forth their countless worlds ! 
Worlds, — in whose bosoms living things rejoice. 
And drink the bliss of being, from the fount 
Of all-pervading Love. 

10 What mind can know, 

What tongue can utter all their multitudes, — 
Thus numberless in numberless abodes, 
Known but to Thee, blest Father ? Thine they are. 
Thy children, and Thy care, — and none overlooked 

15 Of Thee ! No, not the humblest soul that dwells 
Upon the humblest globe, which wheels its course 
Amid the giant glories of the sky, 
Like the mean m.ote that dances in the beam, 
Amongst the thousand mirrored lamps which fling 

20 Their wasteful splendor from the palace wall. 
None, none escape the kindness of Thy care : 
All compassed underneath Thy spacious wing, 
Each fed and guided by Thy powerful hand. 

Tell me, ye splendid Orbs ! — as from your thrones 
25 Ye mark the rolling provinces that own 

Your sway, — what beings fill those bright abodes ? 
How formed, how gifted ; what their powers, their state, 
Their happiness, their wisdom ? Do they bear 
The stamp of human nature ? Or has God 
30 Peopled those purer realms with lovelier forms, 
I And more celestial minds? Does Innocence 

i|| Still wear her native and untainted bloom ? 

''■' Or has Sin breathed his deadly blight abroad, 

And sowed corruption in those fairy bowers ? 
35 Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire? 

And Slavery forged his chains, and V/rath, and Hate, 
And sordid Selfishness, and cruel Lust, 
Leagued their base bands to tread out Light and Truth, 
And scatter woe where Heaven had planted joy? 
40 Or are thej yet all Paradise, unfallen 
And uncorrupt ; — existence one long joy. 
Without disease upon the frame, or sin 



.liHi 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 885 

Upon the heart, or weariness of life, — 

Hope never quenched, and age unknown, 

And death unfeared ; while fresh and fadeless youth 

Glows in the light from God's near throne of Love? 

5 Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair ! 

Speak, speak ! the mysteries of those living world*; 
Unfold ! — -No language I Everlasting light, 
And everlasting silence ! Yet the eye 
May read and understand. The hand of God 
10 Has written legibly what man may know^ — 
The glory of the Maker. There it shines, 
Inefiable, unchangeable ; and man. 
Bound to the surface of this pigmy globe. 
May know and ask no more. 

15 In other days, 

When death shall give the encumbered spirit wings, 
Its range shall be extended ; it shall roam, 
Perchance, amongst those vast mysterious spheres. 
Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each 

20 Familiar with its children, — learn their laws, 
And share their state, and study and adore 
The infinite varieties of bliss 
And beauty, by the hand Divine 
Lavished on all its works. 

25 Eternity 

Shall thus roll on with ever fresh delight ; 

No pause of pleasure or improvement; world 

On world still opening to the instructed mind 

An unexhausted universe, and time 
30 But adding to its glories ; while the soul, 

Advancing ever to the source of light 

And all perfection, lives, adores, and reigns, 

In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss. 



LESSON CLXXVni. THE FATE OF TYRANNY. MaSOH, 

Oppression dies : the tyrant falls : 
The golden city bows her walls ! 

Jehovah breaks the avenger's rod. 
The son of Wrath, whose ruthless hand 
Hurls desolation o'er the land, 



336 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

Has run his raging race, has closed the scene of blood. 

Chiefs, armed around, behold their vanquished lord ; 
Nor spread the guardian shield, nor lift the loyal sword. 
He falls ; and earth again is free : 
Hark ! at the call of Liberty, 

All Nature lifts the choral song. 
The fir-trees on the mountain's head, 
Rejoice through all their pomp of shade ; 
The lordly cedars nod on sacred Lebanon : 

Tyrant ! they cry, since thy fell force is broke, 
Our proud heads pierce the skies, nor fear the woodman's stroke. 

Hell, from her gulf profound. 
Rouses at thine approach; and all around, 
Her dreadful notes of preparation sound. 

See, at the awful call. 

Her shadowy heroes all. 
E'en mighty kings, the heirs of empire wide, 

Rising with solemn state, and slow, 

From their sable thrones below. 
Meet and insult thy pride. 

" What ! dost thou join our ghostly train, 

A flitting shadow light and vain ? 

Where is thy pomp, thy festive throng. 

The revel dance, and wanton song ? 
Proud king ! Corruption fastens on thy breast ; 
And calls her crawling brood, and bids them share the feast. 

" O Lucifer ! thou radiant star ; 
Son of the Morn ; whose rosy car 

Flamed foremost in the van of day; 
How art thou fallen, thou King of Light ! 
How fallen from thy meridian height ! 
Who saidst, ' The distant poles shall hear me and obey. 
High o'er the stars my sapphire throne shall glow, 
And, as Jehovah's self, my voice the heavens shall bow.' " 

He spake, he died. Distained with gore, 
Beside yon yawning cavern hoar. 

See where his livid corse is laid. 
The aged pilgrim, passing by, 
Surveys him long with dubious eye, 
And muses on his fate, and shakes his reverend head. 
" Just Heavens ! is thus thy pride imperial gone ? 
Is this poor heap of dust the King of Babylon ? 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 337 

Is this the man, whose nod 
Made the earth tremble ; whose terrific rod 
Levelled her loftiest cities ? Where he trod, 

Famine pursued and frowned ; 

Till Nature, groaning round, 
Saw her rich realms transformed to deserts dry ; 

While, at his crowded prison's gate, 

Grasping the keys of fate, 
Stood stern Captivity. 

Vain man ! behold thy righteous doom ; 

Behold each neighboring monarch's tomb ; 

The trophied arch, the breathing bust, 

The laurel shades their sacred dust : 
While thou, vile outcast, on this hostile plain, 
Moulder'st a vulgar corse, among the vulgar slain. 

" No trophied arch, no breathing bust, 
Shall dignify thy trampled dust : 

No laurel flourish o'er thy grave. 
For why, proud king, thy ruthless hand 
Hurled desolation o'er the land. 
And crushed the subject race, whom kings are born to save: 

Eternal infamy shall blast thy name. 
And all thy sons shall share their impious father's shame. 

" Rise, purple Slaughter ! furious rise ; 
Unfold the terror of thine eyes ; 

Dart thy vindictive shafts around : 
Let no strange land a shade afford. 
No conquered nations call them lord ; 
Nor let their cities rise to curse the goodly ground. 
For thus Jehovah swears ; ' No name, no son, 
No remnant shall remain of haughty Babylon.'" 

Thus saith the righteous Lord : 
" My vengeance shall unsheathe the flaming sword ; 
O'er all thy realms my fury shall be poured. 

Where yon proud city stood, 

I '11 spread the stagnant flood ; 
And there the bittern in the sedge shall lurk, 

Moaning with sullen strain ; 

While, sweeping o'er the plain. 
Destruction ends her work. 

Yes, on mine holy mountain's brow, 

I '11 crush this proud Assyrian foe, 
29 



338 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART Ui 

The irrevocable word is spoke. 

From Judah's neck the galling yoke 
Spontaneous falls, she shines with wonted state ; 
Thus by myself I swear, and what I swear is fate." 



LESSON CLXXIX. THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND. 

Thomas Campbell. 

O sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while, 
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 
When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars 
Her whiskered panders and her fierce hussars, 
5 Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 

Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn; 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland, — and to man ! 

Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed, 
10 Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid, — 

Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ! — 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow-men I our country yet remains ! 
15 By that dread name, we wave the sword on high! 
And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! 

He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; 
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
20 Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 

Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
' Revenge, or death,' — the watch-word and reply ; 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
And the loud tocsin told their last alarm ! 

25 In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 

From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew : — 
Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 

30 Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 

Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career; 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell. 
And Freedom shrieked — as Kosciusko fell. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 339 

The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there ; 
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air, — 
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below; 
5 The storm prevails, the rampart yields away, 
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ! 
Hark ! as the mouldering piles with thunder fall, 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! 
Earth shook, — red meteors flashed along the sky, 
10 And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry ! 

righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave, 
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? 
Where was thine arm, O vengeance ! where thy rod, 
That smote the foes of Sion and of God ; 

15 That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car 
Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar ? 
Where was the storm that slumbered till the host 
Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their trembling coast ; 
Then bade the deep in Avild commotion flow, 

20 And heaved an ocean on their march below ? 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled I 
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 
25 Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 

And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
Oh ! once again to freedom's cause return 
The patriot Tell, — the Bruce of Bannockburn ! 

Yes, thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 
30 That man hath yet a soul, — and dare be free ! 
A little while, along thy saddening plains, 
The starless night of Desolation reigns ; 
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given, 
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven ! 
35 Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled, 

Her name, her nature, withered from the world ! 



LESSON CLXXX. NAPOLEON AT REST. JOHN PIERPONT. 

His falchion flashed along the Nile ; 

His hosts he led through Alpine snows ; 
O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while, 

His eagle flai? unrolled, — and froze. 



340 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

Here sleeps he now, alone ! Not one, 
Of all the kings, whose crowns he gave, 

Bends o'er his dust ; — nor wife nor son 
Has ever seen or sought his grave. 

5 Behind this sea-girt rock, the star. 

That led him on from crown to crown, 
Has sunk ; and nations from afar 
Gazed as it faded and went down. 

High is his couch ; — the ocean flood, 
10 Far, far below, by storms is curled ; 

As round him heaved, while high he stood, 
A stormy and unstable world. 

Alone he sleeps ! The mountain cloud, 

That night hangs round him, and the breath 
15 Of morning scatters, is the shroud 

That wraps the conqueror's clay in death. 

Pause here ! The far-off world, at last, 

Breathes free ; the hand that shook its thrones, 
And to the earth its mitres cast, 
20 Lies powerless now beneath these stones. 

Hark ! comes there, from the pyramids, 

And from Siberian wastes of snow, 
And Europe's hills, a voice that bids 

The world he awed to mourn him ? — No : 

25 The only, the perpetual dirge 

That's heard there, is the sea-bird's cry, — 
The mournful murmur of the surge, — 

The cloud's deep voice, the wind's low sigh. 



LESSON CLXXXI. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. DR. CHANNING. 

Such was Napoleon Bonaparte. But some will say, he 
was still a great man. This we mean not to deny. But 
we would have it understood, that there are various kinds 
or orders of greatness, and that the highest did not belong 
to Bonaparte. There are different orders of greatness. 
Among these the first rank is unquestionably due to moral 
greatness, or magnanimity ; to that sublime energy, by 
which the soul, smitten with the love of virtue, binds itself 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 341 

indissolubly, for life and for death, to truth and duty; 
espouses as its own the interests of human nature ; scorns 
all meanness and defies all peril ; hears in its own con- 
science a voice louder than threatenings and thunders; 
6 withstands all the powers of the universe, which would 
sever it from the cause of freedom, virtue, and religion ; 
reposes an unfaltering trust in God in the darkest hour, 
and is ever "ready to be offered up" on the altar of its 
country or of mankind. Of this moral greatness, which 

10 throws all other forms of greatness into obscurity, we see 
not a trace or a spark in Napoleon. Though clothed with 
the power of a God, the thought of consecrating himself 
to the introduction of a new and higher era, to the exalta- 
tion of the character and condition of his race, seems never 

15 to have dawned on his mind. The spirit of disinterested- 
ness and self-sacrifice seems not to have waged a moment's 
war with self-will and ambition. His ruling passions were 
singularly at variance with magnanimity. Moral great- 
ness has too much simplicity, is too unostentatious, too 

20 self-subsistent, and enters into others' interests with too 
much heartiness, to live a day for what Napoleon always 
lived, to make itself the theme, and gaze, and wonder of a 
dazzled world. 

Next to moral, comes intellectual greatness, or genius in 

25 the highest sense of that word ; and by this, we mean that 
sublime capacity of thought, through which the soul, smit- 
ten with the love of the true and the beautiful, essays to 
comprehend the universe, soars into the heavens, pene- 
trates the earth, penetrates itself, questions the past, anti- 

30 cipates the future, traces out the general and all-compre- 
hending laws of nature, binds together by innumerable 
affinities and relations all the objects of its knowledge, 
and, not satisfied with what is finite, frames to itself ideal 
excellence, loveliness, and grandeur. This is the great- 

85 ness which belongs to philosophers, inspired poets, and to 
the master spirits of the fine arts. 

Next comes the greatness of action; and by this we 
mean the sublime power of conceiving and executing bold 
and extensive plans ; constructing and bringing to bear on 

40 a mighty object a complicated machinery of means, ener- 
gies, and arrangements, and accomplishing great outward 
effects. To this head belongs the greatness of Bonaparte, 
and that he possessed it, we need not prove, and none will 
be hardy enough to deny. A man who raised himself 
29^ 



'iill 



!fllH|' 



342 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART H. 

from obscurity to a throne, who changed the face of the 
world, who made himself felt through powerful and civil- 
ized nations, who sent the terror of his name across seas 
and oceans, whose will was pronounced and feared as des- 
5 tiny, whose donatives were crowns, whose ante-chamber 
was thronged by submissive princes, who broke down the 
awful barrier of the Alps, and made them a highway, and 
whose fame was spread beyond the boundaries of civiliza- 
tion to the steppes of the Cossack, and the deserts of the 
10 Arab ; a man, who has left this record of himself in his- 
tory, has taken out of our hands the question whether he 
shall be called great. All must concede to him a sublime 
power of action, an energy equal to great effects. 



LESSON CLXXXII. THE THUNDER STORM,— WASHINGTON 

IRVING. 

[Scenery in the Highlands, on the River Hudson.] 
In the second day of the voyage, they came to the High- 
lands. It was the latter part of a calm, sultry day, that 
they floated gently with the tide between these stern moun- 
5 tains. There was that perfect quiet, which prevails over 
nature, in the languor of summer heat ; the turning of a 
plank, or the accidental falling of an oar, on deck, was 
echoed from the mountain side, and reverberated along 
the shores ; and, if by chance, the captain gave a shout of 

10 command, there were airy tongues that mocked it, from 
every cliff. 

Dolph gazed about him, in mute delight and wonder, at 
these scenes of nature's magnificence. To the left, the 
Dunderberg reared its woody precipices, height over 

15 height, forest over forest, away into the deep summer sky. 
To the right, strutted forth the bold promontory of An- 
tony's Nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it ; 
while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until they 
seemed to lock their arms together, and confine this 

20 mighty river in their embraces. There was a feeling of 
quiet luxury in gazing at the broad, green bosoms, here 
and there, scooped out among the precipices ; or at wood- 
lands high in air, nodding over the edge of some beetling 
bluff, and their foliage all transparent in the yellow sun- 

25 shine. 

In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a pile 
of bright snowy clouds, peering above the western heights. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 343 

It was succeeded by another, and another, each seemingly 
pushing onwards its predecessor, and towering, with daz- 
zling brilliancy, in the deep blue atmosphere : and now 
muttering peals of thunder were faintly heard, rolling be- 
6 hind the mountains. The river, hitherto still and glassy, 
reflecting pictures of the sky and land, now showed a dark 
ripple at a distance, as the breeze came creeping up it. 
The fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, and sought their 
nests on the high dry trees ; the crows flew clamorously 

10 to the crevices of the rocks ; and all nature seemed con- 
scious of the approaching thunder-gust. 

The clouds now rolled, in volumes, over the mountain 
tops ; their summits still bright and snowy, but the lower 
parts of an inky blackness. The rain began to patter down 

15 in broad and scattered drops ; the wind freshened, and 
curled up the waves ; at length, it seemed as if the belly- 
ing clouds were torn open by the mountain tops, and com- 
plete torrents of rain came rattling down. The lightning 
leaped from cloud to cloud, and streamed quivering against 

20 the rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest forest trees. 
The thunder burst in tremendous explosions ; the peals 
were echoed from mountain to mountain ; they crashed 
upon Dunderberg, and then rolled up the long defile of the 
Highlands, each headland making a new echo, until old 

25 Bull Hill seemed to bellow back the storm. 

For a time, the scudding rack and mist, and the sheeted 
rain, almost hid the landscape from the sight. There was 
a fearful gloom, illumined still more fearfully by the 
streams of lightning, which glittered among the rain-drops. 

30 Never had Dolph beheld such an absolute warring of the 
elements ; it seemed, as if the storm was tearing and rend- 
ing its way through this mountain defile, and had brought 
all the artillery of heaven into action. 



LESSON CLXXXIII. CLASSICAL LEARNING. JOSEPH STORY. 

The importance of classical learning to professional ed- 
ucation, is so obvious, that the surprise is, that it could 
ever have become matter of disputation. I speak not of 
its power in refining the taste, in disciplining the judg- 
ment, in invigorating the understanding, or in warming 
the heart with elevated sentim.ents ; but of its power of 
direct, positive, necessary instruction. Until the eigh- 
teenth century, the mass of science, in its principal 



^ 



344 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART 11. 

branches, was deposited in the dead languages, and much 
of it still reposes there. To be ignorant of these lan- 
guages, is to shut out the lights of former times, or to ex- 
amine them only through the glimmerings of inadequate 
5 translations. 

It is often said, that there have been eminent men and 
eminent writers, to whom the ancient languages were un- 
knovAm, — -men who have risen by the force of their talents, 
and writers who have written with a purity and ease 

10 which hold them up, as models for imitation. On the 
other hand, it is as often said, that scholars do not always 
compose either with elegance or chasteness ; that their 
diction is sometimes loose and harsh, and sometimes pon- 
derous and affected. 

15 Be it so. I am not disposed to call in question the ac- 
curacy of either statement. But I would, nevertheless, 
say that the presence of classical learning was not the 
cause of the faults of the one class, nor the absence of it, 
the cause of the excellence of the other. And I would 

20 put this fact, as an answer to all such reasonings, that 
there is not a single language of modern Europe, in which 
literature has made any considerable advances, which is 
not directly of Roman origin, or has not incorporated into 
its very structure many, very many, of the idioms and pe- 

25 culiarilies of the ancient tongues. The English language 
affords a strong illustration of the truth of this remark. 
It abounds with words and meanings drawn from classical 
sources. Innumerable phrases retain the symmetry of 
their ancient dress. Innumerable expressions have re- 

30 ceived their vivid tints from the beautiful dyes of Roman 
and Grecian roots. If scholars, therefore, do not write 
our language with ease, or purity, or elegance, the cause 
must lie somewhat deeper than a conjectural ignorance of 
its true diction. 

35 I repeat, there is not a single nation from the north to 
the south of Europe, from the bleak shores of the Baltic 
to the bright plains of immortal Italy, whose literature is 
not imbedded in the very elements of classical learning. 
The literature of England is, in an emphatic sense, the 

40 production of her scholars, — of men who have cultivated 
letters in her universities, and colleges, and grammar- 
schools, — of men who thought any life too short, chiefly 
because it left some relic of antiquity unmastered, and any 
other fame humble, because it faded in the presence of 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 345 

Roman and Grecian genius. He who studies English lit- 
erature without the lights of classical learning, loses half 
the charms of its sentiments and style, of its force and 
feelings, of its delicate touches, of its delightful allusions, 
5 of its illustrative associations. Who that reads the poetry 
of Gray, does not feel that it is the refinement of classical 
taste, which gives such inexpressible vividness and trans- 
parency to his diction ? Who that reads the concentrated 
sense and melodious versification of Dryden and Pope, 
10 does not perceive in them the disciples of the old school, 
whose genius was inflamed by the heroic verse, the terse 
satire, and the playful wit of antiquity ? Who that medi- 
tates over the strains of Milton, does not feel that he drank 
deep 

15 At " Siloa's brook, that flowed 

Fast by the oracle of God ;" 

that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by 
coals from ancient altars ? 

It is no exaggeration to declare, that he who proposes to 

20 aholish classical studies, proposes to render, in a great 
measure, inert and unedifying the mass of English litera- 
ture for three centuries ; to rob us of much of the glory of 
the past, and much of the instruction of future ages ; to 
blind us to excellences which few may hope to equal, and 

25 none to surpass ; to annihilate associations which are in- 
terwoven with our best sentiments, and give to distant 
times and countries a presence and reality, as if they were, 
in fact, our own. 



LESSON CLXXXIV. THE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. DANIEL 

WEBSTER. 

The Bunker Hill Monument is finished. Here it stands. 
Fortunate in the natural eminence on which it is placed. 
— ^higher, infinitely higher, in its objects and purpose, it 
rises over the land, and over the sea ; and visible, at their 
5 homes, to three hundred thousand citizens of Massachu- 
setts, — it stands, a memorial of the last, and a monitor to 
the present, and all succeeding generations. 

I have spoken of the loftiness of its purpose. If it had 

been without any other design than the creation of a work 

10 of art, the granite, of which it is composed, would have 

slept in its native bed. It has a purpose ; and that pur- 



346 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U. 

pose gives it character. That purpose enrobes it with dig- 
nity and moral grandeur. That well known purpose it is, 
which causes us to look up to it with a feeling of awe. 
5 It is itself the orator of this occasion. It is not from my 
lips, it is not from any human lips, that that strain of elo- 
quence is this day to flow, most competent to move and 
excite the vast multitudes around. The potent speaker 
stands motionless before them. It is a plam shaft. It 

10 bears no inscriptions, fronting to the rising sun, from 
which the future antiquarian shall wipe the dust. Nor 
does the rising sun cause tones of music to issue from its 
summit. But at the rising of the sun, and at the setting 
of the sun, in the blaze of noon-day, and beneath the 

15 milder effulgence of lunar light, it looks, it speaks, it acts, 
to the full comprehension of every American mind, and 
the awakening of glowing enthusiasm in every American 
heart. Its silent, but awful utterance ; its deep pathos, as 
it brings to our contemplation the 17th of June, 1775, and 

20 the consequences which have resulted to us, to our coun- 
try, and to the world, from the events of that day, and 
which we know must continue to rain influence on the 
destinies of mankind, to the end of time ; the elevation 
with which it raises us high above the ordinary feelings 

25 of life, surpass all that the study of the closet, or even the 
inspiration of genius can produce. To-day, it speaks to 
us. Its future auditories will be through successive gen- 
erations of men, as they rise up before it, and gather round 
it. Its speech will be of patriotism and courage ; of civil 

30 and religious liberty ; of free government ; of the moral 
improvement and elevation of mankind ; and of the im- 
mortal memory of those who, with heroic devotion, have 
sacrificed their lives for their country. 



LESSON CLXXXV. APPEAL IN FAVOR OF THE UNION. 

JAMES MADISON. 

I submit to you, my fellow-citizens, these considerations, 
in full confidence that the good sense, which has so often 
marked your decisions, will allow them their due weight 
and effect; and that you will never suffer difficulties, how- 
ever formidable in appearance, or however fashionable 
the error on which they may be founded, to drive you into 
the gloomy and perilous scenes, into which the advocates 
for disunion would conduct 3^ou. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 347 

Hearken not to the unnatural voice, M^hich tells you that 
the people of America, knit together, as they are, by so 
many cords of affection, can no longer live together, as 
members of the same family ; can no longer continue the 
5 mutual guardians of their mutual happiness ; can no lon- 
ger be fellow-citizens of one great, respectable and flour- 
ishing empire. Hearken not to the voice, which petulant- 
ly tells you, that the form of government, recommended 
for your adoption, is a novelty in the political world ; that 

10 it has never yet had a place in the theories of the wildest 
projectors ; that it rashly attempts what it is impossible to 
accomplish. No, my countrymen ; shut your ears against 
this unhallowed language. Shut your hearts against the 
poison which it conveys. The kindred blood, which flows 

15 in the veins of American citizens, the mingled blood, 
which they have shed in defence of their sacred rights, 
consecrates their union, and excites horror at the idea of 
their becoming aliens, rivals, enemies. And if novelties 
are to be shunned, believe me, the most alarming of all 

20 novelties, the most wild of all projects, the most rash of all 
attempts, is that of rending us in pieces, in order to pre- 
serve our liberties, and promote our happiness. 

But why is the experiment of an extended republic to be 
rejected, merely because it may comprise what is new? 

25 Is it not the glory of the people of America, that, whilst 
they have paid a decent regard to the opinions of former 
times, and other nations, they have not suffered a blind 
veneration for antiquity, for custom, or for names, to over- 
rule the suggestions of their own good sense, the knowl- 

30 edge of their own situation, and the lessons of their own 
experience ? To this manly spirit, posterity will be in- 
debted for the possession, and the world for the example, 
of the numerous innovations displayed on the American 
theatre, in favor of private rights, and public happiness. 

35 Had no important step been taken by the leaders of the 
revolution, for which a precedent could not be discovered ; 
had no government been established, of which an exact mod- 
el did not present itself, — the people of the United States 
might, at this moment, have been numbered among the 

40 melancholy victims of misguided councils ; must, at best, 
have been laboring under the weight of some of those 
forms, which have crushed the liberties of the rest of man- 
kind. 

Happily, for America, happily, we trust, for the whole 



If 



348 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



human race, they pursued a new and more noble course. 
They accomplished a revolution, which has no parallel 
in the annals of human society. They reared fabrics of 
government, which have no model on the face of the globe. 
5 They formed the design of a great confederacy, which it 
is incumbent on their successors to improve and perpetu- 
ate. If their works betray imperfections, we wonder at 
the fewness of them. If they erred most in the structure 
of the union, this was the work most difficult to be execu- 
10 ted ; this is the work which has been new-modelled by 
» the act of your convention ; and it is that act, on which 
you are now to deliberate and decide. 



LESSON CLXXXVI. FRANCE AND ENGLAND. JOHN C. 

CALHOUN. 

The love of France, and the hatred of England, have 
also been assigned as the cause of the present measures. 
"France has not done us justice," says the gentleman from 
Virginia ; " and how can we, without partiality, resist the 

5 aggressions of England ?" I know, sir, we have still cause 
of complaint against France; but it is of a different char- 
acter from those against England. She professes now to 
respect our rights, and there cannot be a reasonable doubt, 
that the most objectionable parts of her decrees, as far 

10 as they respect us, are repealed. We have already for- 
mally acknowledged this to be a fact. 

I, however, protest against the whole of the principles 
on which this doctrine is founded. It is a novel doctrine, 
and nowhere to be found out of this house, that you can- 

15 not select your antagonist, without being guilty of partial- 
ity. Sir, when two invade your rights, you may resist 
both, or either, at your pleasure. It is regulated by pru- 
dence, and not by right. The stale imputation of partial- 
ity to France, is better calculated for the columns of a 

20 newspaper, than for the walls of this house. I ask, in 
this particular, of the gentleman from Virginia, but for the 
same measure which he claims for himself. That gen- 
tleman is at a loss to account for, what he calls, our hatred 
to England. He asks, "How can we hate the country of 

25 Locke, of Newton, Hampden and Chatham ; a country 
having the same language and customs with ourselves, 
and descending from a common ancestry ?" Sir, the laws 
of human affections are uniform. If we have so much to 



PAET II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 349 

attach us to that country, powerful, indeed, must be the 
cause which has overpowered it. 

Yes, sir, there is a cause strong enough. Not that oc- 
cult, courtly affection, which he has supposed to be enter- 
5 tained for France ; but it is to be found in continued and 
unprovoked insult and injury, — a cause so manifest, that 
the gentleman from Virginia had to exert much ingenuity 
to overlook it. But, sir, here I think the gentleman, in 
his eager admiration of that country, has not been suffi- 

10 ciently guarded in his argument. Has he reflected on 
the cause of that admiration ? Has he examined the rea- 
sons of our high regard for her Chatham ? It is his ardent 
patriotism; the heroic courage of his mind, that could not 
brook the least insult or injury offered to his country, but 

15 thought that her interest and honor ought to be vindi- 
cated, at every hazard and expense. I hope, when we are 
called on to admire, we shall also be asked to imitate. I 
hope the gentleman does not wish a monopoly of those 
great virtues to remain to that nation. 

20 " The balance of power " has also been introduced as an 
argument for submission. England is said to be a barrier 
against the military despotism of France. There is, sir, 
one great error in our legislation. We are ready enough 
to protect the interests of the States, and it should seem, 

25 from this argument, to watch over those of a foreign na- 
tion, while we grossly neglect our own immediate con- 
cerns. This argument of the balance of power, is well 
calculated for the British parliament, but not at all fitted 
to the iVmerican congress. Tell them, that they have to 

30 contend with a mighty power, and that, if they persist in 
insult and injury to the American people, they will com- 
pel them to throw the whole weight of their force into the 
scale of their enemy. Paint the danger to them ; and if 
they will desist from injury, we, I answer for it, will not 

35 disturb the balance. But it is absurd for us to talk of the 
balance of power, while they, by their conduct, smile with 
contempt at our simple, good-natured policy. If, however, 
in the contest, it should be found, that they underrate us, 
which I hope and believe, and that we can effect the bal- 

40 ance of power, it will not be difficult for us to obtain such 
terms as our rights demand. 

I, sir, will now conclude, by adverting to an argument 
of the gentleman from Virginia, used in debate on a pre- 
ceding day. He asked, " Why not declare war immediate- 
30 



350 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET H. 

ly?" The answer is obAaous ; because we are not yet pre- 
pared. But, says the gentleman, " such language, as is 
here held, will provoke Great Britain to commence hos- 
tilities." I have no such fears. She knows well, that 
5 such a course would unite all parties here ; a thing, 
which, above all others, she most dreads. Besides, such 
has been our past conduct, that she will still calculate on 
our patience and submission, till war is actually com- 
menced. 

LESSON CLXXXVII. MILITARY INSUBORDINATION. 

HENRY CLAY. 

Mr. Chairman, — I trust that I shall be indulged with 
some few reflections upon the danger of permitting the 
conduct, on which it has been my painful duty to animad- 
vert, to pass without a solemn expression of the disappro- 
5 bation of this house. Recall to your recollection, sir, the 
free nations which have gone before us. Where are they 
now ? 

" Gone glimmering through, the dream of things that were, 
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour." 

10 And how have they lost their liberties ? If we could trans- 
port ourselves back, sir, to the ages, when Greece and 
Rome flourished in their greatest prosperity, and, mingling 
in the throng, should ask a Grecian, if he did not fear that 
some daring military chieftain, covered with glory, some 

15 Philip, or Alexander, would one day overthrow the liber- 
ties of his country, — the confident and indignant Grecian 
would exclaim, ' No! no! we have nothing to fear from our 
heroes ; our liberties will be eternal.' If a Roman citizen 
had been asked, if he did not fear that the conqueror of 

20 Gaul might establish a throne upon the ruins of public 
liberty, he would have instantly repelled the unjust insin- 
uation. Yet Greece has fallen ; Caesar has passed the 
Rubicon ; and the patriotic arm even of Brutus could not 
preserve the liberties of his devoted country. 

25 Sir, we are fighting a great moral battle, for the bene- 
fit, not only of our country, but of all mankind. The eyes 
of the whole world are in fixed attention upon us. One, 
and the largest portion of it, is gazing with jealousy, and , 
with envy ; the other portion, with hope, with confidence, 

30 and with affection. Everywhere, the black cloud of legit- 
imacy, is suspended over the world, save only one bright 
spot, which breaks out from the political hemisphere of 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 351 

the west, to enlighten, and animate, and gladden, the hu- 
man heart. Obscure that, by the downfall of liberty here, 
and all mankind are enshrouded in a pall of universal 
darkness. Beware, then, sir, how you give a fatal sanction, 
5 in this infant period of our republic, to military insubor- 
dination. Remember that Greece had her Alexander, 
Rome her Ceesar, England her Cromwell, France her 
Bonaparte ; and, that if we would escape the rock on 
which they split, we must avoid their errors. 

10 I hope, sir, that gentlemen will deliberately survey the 
awful isthmus, on which we stand. They may bear down 
all opposition. They may even vote the general"^ the 
public thanks. They may carry him triumphantly through 
this house. But if they do, sir, in my humble judgment, 

15 it will be a triumph of the principle of insubordination, — 
a triumph of the military over the civil authority, — a tri- 
umph over the powers of this house, — a triumph over the 
constitution of the land, — and I pray, sir, most devoutly, 
that it may not prove, in its ultimate effects and conse- 

20 quences, a triumph over the liberties of the people. 



LESSON CLXXXVIII. LOSS OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. MAXCY. 

The loss of a firm national character, or the degradation 
of a nation's honor, is the inevitable prelude to her destruc- 
tion. Behold the once proud fabric of a Roman empire, — 
an empire carrying its arts and arms, into every part of 
5 the eastern continent ; the monarchs of mighty kingdoms, 
dragged at the wheels of her triumphal chariots ; her eagle 
weaving over the ruins of desolated countries. Where is 
her splendor, her wealth, her power, her glory ? Extin- 
guished for ever. Her mouldering temples, the mournful 

10 vestiges of her former grandeur, afford a shelter to her 
muttering monks. Where are her statesmen, her sages, 
her philosophers, her orators, her generals ? Go to their 
solitary tombs, and inquire. She lost her national char- 
acter, and her destruction followed. The ramparts of her 

15 national pride were broken doA^ai, and Vandalism desola- 
ted her classic fields. 

Citizens will lose their respect and confidence in our 
government, if it does not extend over them the shield of 
an honorable national character. Corruption will creep in, 

20 and sharpen party animosity. Ambitious leaders will seize 
upon the favorable moment. The mad enthusiasm for 
* General JacVson. 



352 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL 

revolution, will call into action the irritated spirit of our 
nation, and civil war must follow. The swords of our 
countrymen may yet glitter on our mountains ; their blood 
may yet crimson our plains. 
5 Such, — the warning voice of all antiquity, the example 
of all republics proclaim, — may be our fate. But let us 
no longer indulge these gloomy anticipations. The com- 
mencement of our liberty, presages the dawn of a brighter 
period, to the world. That bold, enterprising spirit which 

10 conducted our heroes to peace and safety, and gave us a 
lofty rank amid the empires of the world, still animates 
the bosoms of their descendants. Look back to that 
moment, when they unbarred the dungeons of the slave, 
and dashed his fetters to the earth ; when the sword of a 

15 Washington leaped from its scabbard, to revenge the 
slaughter of our countrymen. Place their example before 
you. Let the sparks of their veteran wisdom flash across 
your minds, and the sacred altars of your liberty, crowned 
with immortal honors, rise before you. Relying on the 

20 virtue, the courage, the patriotism, and the strength of our 
country, we may expect our national character will become 
more energetic, our citizens more enlightened, and may 
hail the age, as not far distant, when will be heard, as the 
proudest exclamation of man : " I am an American." 



LESSON CLXXXIX. ALLEGIANCE TO THE LAW. 

N. L. FROTHINGHAM. 

Every citizen owes allegiance to the law. It is aoove 
him, though he helps to make it. It is above him, though 
he dissent. It belongs to the commonwealth. It is not to 
be taken into private hands, lest a way be opened to con- 
5 fusion and every evil work. Is not this a truth to be very 
carefully considered by the people of this country ? Is not 
its importance signified to us by many accounts that reach 
us from distant parts of it, and by signs now and then 
nearer home, and by the ferment of innovation that is 

10 every where at work ? 

An evil genius of disobedience is loose. It has gone so 
far, once and again, as to arm mobs, and point cannon 
in the streets. What are the tidings of lawless violence, 
that we are continually reading, but so many alarm-bells to 

15 awaken everywhere a spirit of vigilance for the public 
order ? How long ago is it, since there was an insurrec- 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 358 

tion in one of the States'^ bordering upon our own, and 
threatening the most dreadful consequences? The little 
commonwealth rose in its majesty, — it had won honor in 
that way some time before, — and crushed that attempt at 
5 revolution. I do not say this with any political feeling. I 
know nothing of sectarian politics. But I know treason 
when I see it, with its murderous hand, and its gory face. 
I know civil war when I see it, and the frightful enormity 
of kindling it up in a peaceful and prosperous land. I 

10 claim to know it, and am bound to know it, as a minister 
of the gospel, when the dearest laws of society, and the 
highest laws of God are set at defiance. 

What have we just heard from those regions of the dis- 
tant west, that are so fertile in instances of lawlessness ? 

15 When a citizen! is murdered in his prison, under the 
pledged protection of the public authorities, it does not les- 
sen in principle the crime, that the man was a mischievous 
knave, and a vulgar impostor. But this took place, — will you 
say ? — on the outskirts of our civilization. How much bet- 

20 ter is it, then, in the very centres of refinement ? Many of 
us remember when "the monumental city" was called by 
a very different name. Recent outrages, of the most atro- 
cious kind, in a nearer place, are still shocking our ears. 
Such concessions have been made there to the turbulence 

25 of the mob, to the insolent terms proposed by boys and 
ruffians with weapons in their hands, as to fill the reflect- 
ing mind, not only with shame, but with the deepest anxi- 
ety. And, as if there must be something even worse, 
reputable men, they who have a stake in society and a cer- 

30 tain lead in it, consent to speak of such things reservedly 
and lightly, and even have the servility or the audacity to 
be their apologists. 

Will it be a wonder, or no wonder, if among them per- 
sons shall be found, forward to convulse the country, which 

35 they declare it against their principles to defend ? It is 
certainly not strange, that they, who are anarchists and 
non-resistants at once, should refuse to protect their homes, 
or even pay others for protecting them ; — they, whose con- 
sciences will not let them strike a blow for honor or char- 

40 ity, for child or sire, to prevent wrong or outrage upon any 
living thing. Let every citizen, as such, contemplate the 
law. As such, he has no higher duty. As such, he has 
no other safeguard. 

* Rhode Island. f Joseph Smith. 

30# 



3S4 



AMEKIEAN COMMON^SCHOOL 



[part a. 



i 



i 



LESSON CXC. THE VISION OF LIBERTY.— HENRY WARE, JR. 

The evening heavens were calm and bright ; 

No dimness rested on the glittering light, 
That sparkled from that wilderness of worlds on high ; a 

Those distant suns burned on with quiet ray ; 
5 The placid planets held their modest way ; 

And silence reigned profound o'er earth, and sea, and sky. 

Oh ! what an hour for lofty thought ! 

My spirit burned within ; I caught 
A holy inspiration from the hour. 
10 Around me, man and nature slept ; 

Alone my solemn watch I kept, 
Till morning dawned, and sleep resumed her power. 

A vision passed upon my soul. 
I still was gazing up to heaven, 
15 As in the early hours of even ; 

I still beheld the planets roll, 
And all those countless sons of light 

Flame from the broad blue arch, and guide the moonless 
night. 

20 When lo ! upon the plain, 

Just where it skirts the swelling main, 
A massive castle, far and high, 
In towering grandeur broke upon my eye. 
Proud in its strength and years, the ponderous pile 
25 Flung up its time-defying towers ; 
Its lofty gates seemed scornfully to smile 

At vain assault of human powers, 
And threats and arms deride. 
Its gorgeous carvings of heraldic pride, 
30 In giant masses graced the walls above ; 
And dungeons yawned below. 

Yet ivy there and moss their garlands wove, 
Grave, silent chroniclers of time's protracted flow. 

Bursting on my steadfast gaze, 
35 See, within, a sudden blaze ! 

So small at first, the zephyr's slightest swell, 

That scarcely stirs the pine-tree top. 

Nor makes the withered leaf to drop. 
The feeble fluttering of that flame would quell. 



PART II.J READER AND SPEAKER. 

But soon it spread, — 
Waving, rushing, fierce, and red, — 
From wall to wail, from tower to tower, 
Raging with resistless power ; 
5 Till every fervent pillar glowed, 

And every stone seemed burning coal, 
Instinct with living heat that flowed 

Like streaming radiance from the kindled pole. 

Beautiful, fearful, grand, 
10 Silent as death, I saw the fabric stand. 

At length a crackling sound began ; 

From side to side, throughout the pile it ran ; 

And louder yet and louder grew. 

Till now in rattling thunder-peals it grew ; 
15 Huge shivered fragments from the pillars broke, 

Like fiery sparkles from the anvil's stroke. 

The shattered wails were rent and riven, 

And piecemea!l driven. 

Like blazing comets through the troubled sky. 
20 'Tis done; what centuries had reared, 

In quick explosion disappeared. 

Nor even its ruins met my wondering eye. 

But in their place, — 

Bright with more than human grace, 
25 Robed in more than mortal seeming, 

Radiant glory in her face. 

And eyes with heaven's own brightness beaming,- 

Rose a fair majestic form, 

As the mild rainbow from the storm, 
30 I marked her smile, I knew her eye ; 

And when, with gesture of command, 
She wavt3d aloft the cap-crowned wand. 

My slumbers fled mid shouts of " Liberty ! " 

Read ye the dream ? and know ye not 
35 How truly it unlocked the world of fate ? 

Went not the flame from this illustrious spot, 

And spreads it not, and burns in every state ? 
And when their old and cumbrous walls, 
Filled with this spirit, glow intense, 
40 Vainly they reared their impotent defence : 

The fabric falls ! 



355 A5IERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART a 

That fervent energy must spread. 

Till despotism's towers be overthrown; 

And in their stead, 
Liberty stands alone ! 

5 Hasten the day, just Heaven I 
Accomplish thy design ; 
And let the blessings thou hast freely given. 

Freely on all men shine ; 
Till equal rights be equally enjoyed, 
10 And human power for human good employed ; 
Till law, not man, the sovereign rule sustain^ 
And peace and virtue undisputed reign. 



LESSON CXCI. — -SHAZSPEARE. CHARLES SPRAGUE, 

Then Shakspeare rose ! — 
Across the trembling strings 
His daring hand he flings. 
And lo ! a new creation glows ! — 
5 There clustering round, submissive to his will^ 
Fate's vassal train his high commands fulfil. 

Madness, with his frightful scream, 
Vengeance, leaning on his lance, 
Avarice, with his blade and beam, 
10 Hatred, blasting with a glance. 

Remorse, that weeps, and Rage, that roars. 
And Jealousy, that dotes, but dooms, and murders, yet 
adores. 

Mirth, his face with sunbeams lit, 
Waking Laughter's merry swell, 
15 Arm in arm with fresh-eyed Wit, 

That waves his tingling lash, while Folly shakes his bell. 
From the feudal tower pale Terror rushing, 
Where the prophet bird's wail 
Dies along the dull gale, 
20 And the sleeping monarch's blood is gushing. 

Despair, that haunts the gurgling stream, 
Kissed by the virgin moon's cold beam. 
Where some lost maid wild chaplets wreathes, 
And swan-like there her own dirge breathes, 



e^ST H.| ESADES AND SPEAKEK, 3§7 

Tken broken-hearted sinks to rest, 
Beneath the bubbling wave that shrouds her manmc breast. 

Young Love, with ey-e of tender gloom, 
Now drooping o'er the hallowed tomb, 
S Where his plighted victims lie, 

Where they met, but met to die : — 
And now, when crimson buds are sleeping, 

Thr-ough the dewy arbor peeiping, 
Where beauty's child, the frowning world forgot, 
1:0 To youth's devoted tale is listening. 

Rapture on her dark lash glistening. 
While fairies leave their c^owslip cells, and guard the hap- 
py spot. 

Thus rise the phantom throng. 
Obedient *o their masters song, 

15 And lead in willing chain the wondering soul along. 

For other worlds war's great one sighed in vain, — 
O'er other worlds see Shakspeare rove and reign i 
The rapt magician of his own wild lay, 
Earth and her ti'ibes his mystic wand obey; 

^ Old ocean trembles, thunder cracks the skies. 

Air teems with shapes and tell-tale spectres rise: 
Night's paltering hags their fearful orgies keep, 
And faithless guilt unseals the lip of sleep : 
Time yields his trophies up, and death restores 

25 The mouldered victims of his voiceless shores. 

The fireside legend, and the faded page, 
The crime that cursed, the deed that blessed an age. 
All, all come forth. — the good to charm and cheer, 
To scourge bold vice, and start the generous tear ; 

SO With pictured folly gazing fools to shame, 

And guide young Glory's foot along the path of fame. 



LESSON CXCII. SPEECH OF RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. . 

3litford, 

Rienzi. Friends, 
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well 
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves ! 
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 
Falls on a slave : not such as, swept along 



^58 AT.IERICAN COM3iON-SCHOOL [PAKT II, 

By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 
To crimson glory and undying fame, 
But base,, ignoble slaves, — slaves to a horde 
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots : lords. 
5 Rich in some dozen paltry villages, — 

Strong in some hundred spearmen, — only great 

In that strange spell, — a name. Each hour, dark frauds 

Or open rapine, or protected murder. 

Cries out against them. But this very day, 

10 An honest man^ my neighbor, tliere he stands,— 
Was struck, — struck like a dog, by one who v^ore 
The badge of Ur.sini ; because, forsooth, 
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,. 
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 

15 At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men, 

And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not 
The stain aw^ay in blood ? Such shames are common. 
I have known deeper v\'rongs. I, that speak to ye, 
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,, 

20 Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, — 

Of sweet and quiet joy, — " there was the look 
Of heaven upon his face, w^hich limners give 
To the beloved disciple." How I loved 
That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 

25 Brother, at once, and son ! " He left my side, 
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, — a smile 
Parting his innocent lips." In one short hour 
The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 

30 For vengeance ! — Eouse, ye Romans ! — Rouse, ye slaves ! 
Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next fierce brawl 
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters ? Look 
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained. 
Dishonored ; and, if ye dare call for justice, 

35 Be answered by the lash. Yet, this is Rome, 
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne 
Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet, we are Romans. 
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 
Was greater than a king ! And once again, — 

40 Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus ! once again I swear. 
The eternal city shall be free ! her sons 
Shall walk with princes. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 359 

LESSON cxciii. — SAME SUBJECT. — Thomos MooTe. 
" Romans ! look round you, — on this sacred place 

There once stood shrines, and gods, and godlike men, — 
What see you now ? what solitary trace 

Is left of all that made Rome's glory then? 
5 The shrines are sunk, the sacred mount bereft 

Even of its name, — and nothing now remains 
But the deep memory of that glory, left 

To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains I 
But shall this be ? — our sun and sky the same, 
10 Treading the very soil our fathers trod, — 

What withering curse hath fallen on soul and frame, 

What visitation hath there come from God, 
To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves, 
Here, on oar great forefathers' glorious graves ? 
15 It cannot be, — rise up, ye mighty dead. 

If we, the living, are too weak to crush 
These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire tread, 

Till all but Romans at Rome's tameness blush! 

Happy Palmyra ! in thy desert domes, 
20 Where only date-trees sigh, and serpents hiss ; 
And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes 

For the stork's brood, superb Persepolis ! 
Thrice happy both, that your extinguished race 
Have left no embers, — no half-living trace, — 
25 No slaves, to crawl around the once proud spot. 
Till past renown in present shame's forgot; 
While Rome, the queen of all, whose very wrecks, 

If lone and lifeless through a desert hurled, 
Would wear more true magnificence than decks 
30 The assembled thrones of all the existing world, — 
Rome, Rome alone, is haunted, stained, and cursed. 

Through every spot her princely Tiber laves, 
By living human things, — the deadliest, worst. 
That earth engenders, — tyrants and their slaves ! 
35 And we, — oh ! shame, — we, who have pondered o'er 
The patriot's lesson, and the poet's lay; 
Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore, 

Tracking our country's glories all the way, — 
Even we have tamely, basely kissed the ground, 
40 Before that Papal Power, that Ghost of Her, 
The World's Imperial Mistress, — sitting, crowned 
And ghastly, on her mouldering sepulchre ! 



360 AMEHICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 

But this is pasty— too long have lordly priests 
And priestly lords led us, with all our pride 

Withering about us, — like devoted beasts, 

Dragged to the shrine, with faded garlands tied. 
5 'T is o'er^ — the dawn of our deliverance breaks ! 

Up from his sleep of centuries awakes 

The Genius of the Old Republic, free 

As first he stood, in chainless majesty, 

And sends his voice through ages yet to come, 
10 Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal Rome 1" 




LESSON CXCIV. GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE SWEDES. BtOOke. 

Are ye not marked, ye men of Dalecarlia, 

Are ye not marked by all the circling world, 

As the last stake ? What but liberty, 

Through the famed course of thirteen hundred years, 
5 Aloof hath held invasion from your hills, 

And sanctified their name ? And will ye, will ye 

Shrink from the hopes of the expecting world, 

Bid your high honors stoop to foreign insult, 

And in one hour give up to infamy 
10 The harvest of a thousand years of glory ? 

Die all first ! 

Yes, die by piecemeal ! 

Leave not a limb o'er which a Dane can triumph ! 

Now from my soul I joy, I joy my friends, 
15 To see ye feared ; to see that even your foes 

Do justice to your valor ! — There they are, 

The powers of kingdoms, summed in yonder host, 

Yet kept aloof, yet trembling to assail ye, 

And oh ! when I look around and see you here, 
20 Of number short, but prevalent in virtue, 

My heart swells high, and burns for the encounter. 

True courage but from opposition grows ; 

And what are fifty, what a thousand slaves, 

Matched to the virtue of a single arm 
25 That strikes for liberty ? that strikes to save 

His fields from fire, his infants from the sword, 

And his large honors from eternal infamy ? 

What doubt we then ? Shall we, shall we stand here ! 

Let us on ! 
30 Firm are our hearts, and nervous are our arms, 



PAST U.] READER AND SPEAKER. ^801 

With US truth, justice, fame, and freedom close. 
Each, singly, equal to a host of foes. 



LESSON CXCV. A FIELD OF BATTLE, Shelley. 

Ah ! whence yon glare 
That fires the arch of heaven ? — that dark red smoke 
Blotting the silver moon ? The stars are quenched 
In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow 
5 Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers round ! 
Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals, 
In countless echoes, through the mountain ring, 
Starting pale Midnight on her starry throne ! 
Now swells the intermingling din ; the jar, 

10 Frequent and frightful, of the hursting bomb ; 

The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout, 
The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men 
Inebriate with rage ! Loud, and more loud, 
The discord grows, till pale Death shuts the scene, 

15 And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws 
His cold and bloody shroud. Of all the men, 
Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there, 
In proud and vigorous health, — of all the hearts, 
That beat with anxious life at sunset there, — 

20 How few survive ! how few are beating now ! 
All is deep silence, like the fearful calm 
That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause ; 
Save when the frantic wail of widowed love 
Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan 

25 With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay 
Wrapt round its struggling powers. 

The gray morn 
Dawns on the mournful scene ; the sulphurous smoke 
Before the icy wind slow rolls away, 

'30 And the bright beams of frosty morning dance 

Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood, 
Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms, 
And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments 
Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path 

35 Of the outsallying victors : far behind, 

Black ashes note where their proud city stood. 
Within yon forest is a gloomy glen, — 
Each tree which guards its darkness from the day, 
Waves o'er a warrior's tomb. 

31 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [fART U, 

LESSON CXCVI, RESISTANCE TO OPPRESSION. PATRICK 

HENRY. 

Mr. President, — ^It is natural for man to indulge in the 
illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a 
painful truth, and listen to the song of that syren, till she 
transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, 
5 engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty ? Are 
we disposed to be of the number of tho-se, who, having 
eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which 
so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my 
part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing 

10 to know the whale truth ; to know the worst, and to pro- 
vide for it. 

I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided ; and 
that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of 
judging of the future but by the past. And judging by 

15 the past, I wish to know what there is in the conduct of 
the British ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those 
hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace 
themselves and the House? Is it that insidious smile, 
with which our petition has been lately received ? Trust 

20 it not, sir ; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not 
yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. 

Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our peti- 
tion comports with those warlike preparations which 
cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and 

25 armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation ? 
Have we showTi ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, 
that force must be called in to win back our love ? Let 
us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements 
of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which 

80 kings resort. 

I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if 
its purpose be not to force us to submission ? Can gentle- 
men assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great 
Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for 
^liflifl 35 all this accumulation of navies and armies ? No, sir, she 

has none. They are meant for us : they can be meant for 
no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us 
those chains, which the British ministry have been so long 
forging. And what have we to oppose them? Shall 

40 we try argument ? Sir, we have been trying that for the 
last ten years. Have we any thing new to offer upon 
the subject ? Nothing. We have held the subject up in 



FART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 

every li'glit of which it is capable ; but it has been all in 
vain. 

Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication ? 
Whatterm.s shall we find, which have not been already ex- 
5 hausted ? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves 
longer. Sir, we have done everj^thing that could be done, 
to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have peti- 
tioned ; we have remonstrated ; we have supplicated; we 
have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have im- 

10 plored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands q( th« 
ministr37 and parliament. Our petitions have been slight- 
ed ; our remonstrances have produced additional violence 
and insult ; our supplications have been disregarded ; and 
wo have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the 

15 throne! ^ 

In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond 
hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any 
room for hope. If we wish to be free, — if we mean to 
preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges, for which 

20 we have been so long contending, — if we mean not basely 
to abandon the noble struggle, in which we have been so 
long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never 
to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall be 
obtained, — we must fight ! I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! 

25 An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is ail that is 
left us I 

They tell us, sir, that we are weak ; unable to cope 
with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be 
stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? 

30 Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a 
British guard shall be stationed in every house ? Shall 
we gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall 
we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying su- 
pinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom 

35 of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and 
foot ? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of 
those means which the God of nature hath placed in our 
power. 

Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of 

40 liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, 
are invincible by any force which our enemy can send 
against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles 
alone. There is a just God who presides over the desti- 
nies of nations ; and who will raise up friends to fight our 

f 



S64 



AMERICAN COMMON- SCHOOL 



|f^RT 15. 



battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; 
it is to the vigilant, tiie active, the brave. Besides, sir, 
we have no election. If we were base enough to desire 
it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There 
6 is no retreat, but in submission and slavery ! Oar chains 
are forged ! Their clanking may be heard on the plains 
of Boston ! The war is inevitable, — ^and let it come 1 I 
repeat it, sir, let it come ! 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentl^nen 

10 may cry, peace, peace, — bnt there is no peace. The war 
is actually begun ! The next gale, that sweeps from the 
north, will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! 
Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we 
here idle ? What is it that gentlemen wish ? What 

25 would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to 
be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid 
it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others may 
lake ; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death I 



LESSON CXCVII.— -DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. ^LEVI 

WOODKURY. 

It behooves us to look our perils and difKculties, such as 
they are, in the face. Then, with the exercise of candor, 
calmness, and fortitude, being able to comprehend fully 
their character and extent, let us profit by the teachings of 
5 almost every page in our annals, that any defects, under 
our existing system, have resulted more from the manner 
of administering it, than from its substance or form. 

We less need new laws, new institutions, or new pow- 
ers, than we need, on all occasions, at all times, and in 

10 all places, the requisite intelligence concerning the true 
spirit of our present ones ; the high moral courage, under 
every hazard, and against every offender, to execute with 
fidelity the authority already possessed ; and the manly 
independence to abandon all supineness, irresolution, vacil- 

15 lation, and time-serving pusillanimity, and enforce our pres- 
ent mild system with that uniformity and steady vigor 
throughout, which alone can supply the place of the greater 
severity of less free institutions. 

To arm and encourage us in renewed eflfbrts to accom- 

20 plish every thing on this subject which is desirable, our 
history constantly points her finger to a most efficient re- 
source> and indeed to the only elixir, to secure a long Kfe 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 365 

to any popular government, in increased attention to use- 
ful education and sound morals, with the wise description 
of equal measures and just practices they inculcate on 
every leaf of recorded time. Before their alliance, the 
5 spirit of misrule will always, in time, stand rebuked, and 
those who worship at the shrine of unhallowed ambition, 
must quail. 

Storms, in the political atmosphere, may occasionally 
happen by the encroachments of usurpers, the corruption 

10 or intrigues of demagogues, or in the expiring agonies of 
faction, or by the sudden fury of popular frenzy ; but, with 
the restraints and salutary influences of the allies before 
described, these storms will purify as healthfully as they 
often do in the physical world, and cause the tree of lib- 

15 erty, instead of falling, to strike its roots deeper. In this 
struggle, the enlightened and moral possess also a power, 
auxiliary and strong, in the spirit of the age, which is not 
only with them, but onward, in every thing to ameliorate 
or imiprove. 

20 When the struggle assumes the form of a contest with 
power, in all its subtlety, or with undermining and cor- 
rupting wealth, as ii sometimes may, rather than with 
turbulence, sedition, or open aggression by the needy and 
desperate, it will be indispensable to employ still greater 

25 diligence ; to cherish earnestness of purpose, resoluteness 
in conduct; to apply hard and constant blows to real 
abuses, rather than milk-and-water remedies, and encour- 
age not only bold, free, and original thinking, but deter- 
mined action. 

30 In such a cause, our fathers were men whose hearts 
were not accustomed to fail them, through fear, however 
formidable the obstacles. Some of them were companions 
of Cromwell, and imbued deeply with his spirit and iron 
decision of character, in whatever they deemed right : " If 

35 Pope, and Spaniard, and devil, (said he,) all set themselves 
against us, though they should compass us about as bees, 
as it is in the 18th Psalm, yet in the name of the Lord we 
will destroy them." We are not, it is trusted, such degen- 
erate descendants, as to prove recreant, and fail to defend, 

40 with gallantry and firmness as unflinching, all which we 
have either derived from them, or since added to the rich 
inheritance. 

At such a crisis, therefore, and in such a cause, yielding 
to neither consternation nor despair, may we not all profit 
31^ 




B66 - AMEKICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [fART H. 

by the vehement exhortations of Cicero to Atticus : " If 
you are asleep, awake ; if yoii are standing, more j if yo« 
a-re moving,- run j if you are running, fly ?" 

All these considerations warn us,— the grave- stones of 
B almost every former republic warn us, — that a high stand- 
ard of moral rectitude, as well as of intelligence, is quite as 
indispensable to communities, in their public doings, as i& 
individuals, if they would escape from either degeneracy 
or disgrace, 

LESSON CXCTTII, — POLITieAL CORRUPTION,- — Gl^O. m'FUFFIE, 

Sir.— we are apt to treat the idea of our own corrupti- 
Mlity, as utterly visionary, and to asb^ with a grave affecta- 
tion of dignity, — what ! do you think a member of congress? 
can be corrupted ? Sir, I speak what I have long and de- 
B liberately considered, when I say, that since man was cre- 
ated, there never has been a political body on the face of 
the earth, that would not be corrupted under the same cir- 
cumstances. Corruption steals upon us, in a thousand 
insidious forms, when we are least aware of its approaches. 

10 Of all the forms in which it can present itself, the bribery 
of office is the most dangerous, because it assumes the 
guise of patriotism to accomplish its fatal sorcery. We 
are often asked, where is the evidence of corruption ? 
Have you seen it ? Sir^ do you expect to see it ? You 

15 might as well expect to see the embodied forms of pesti- 
lence and famine stalking before you, as to see the latent 
operations of this insidious power. We may walk amidst 
it, and breathe its contagion, without being conscious of 
its presence. All experience teaches us the irresistible 

20 power of temptation, when vice assumes the fonn of virtue. 
The great enemy of mankind could not have consum- 
mated his infernal scheme for the seduction of our first pa- 
rents, but for the disguise in which he presented himself. 
Had he appeared, as- the devil, in his proper form ; had the 

25 spear of Ithuriel disclosed the naked deformity of the fiend 
of hell, the inhabitants of Paradise would have shrunk, with 
horror, from his presence. But he came, as the insinuat- 
ing serpent, and presented a beautiful apple, the most de- 
licious fruit in all the garden. He told his glowing story, 

30 to the unsuspecting victim of his guile. " It can be no 
crime to taste of this delightful fruit. It will disclose to 
you the knowledge of good and evil. It will raise you to 
an equality with the angels," Such, sir, was the process ; 



PAST n.] EEADER AND SPEAKEB. 367 

and, in this simple but impressive narrative, we have the 
most beautiful and philosophical illustration of the frailty 
of man, and the power of temptation, that could possibly 
be exhibited. 
5 Mr. Chairman, I have been forcibly struck with the simi- 
larity between our present situation and that of Eve, after 
it was announced that Satan was on the borders of Para- 
dise. We, too, have been warned that the enemy is on our 
borders. But God forbid that the similitude should be car- 

10 ried any farther. Eve, conscious of her innocence, sought 
temptation, and defied it. The catastrophe is too fatally 
known to us all. She went, " with the blessings of Heaven 
on her head, and its purity in her heart," guarded by the 
ministry of angels, — she returned, covered with shame, un- 

15 der the heavy denunciation of Heaven's everlasting curse. 

Sir, it is innocence that temptation conquers. If our 

first parent, pure as she came from the hand of God, was 

overcome by the seductive power, let us not imitate her 

fatal rashness, seeking temptation, when it is in our power 

20 to avoid it. Let us not vainly confide in our own infalli- 
bility. We are liable to be corrupted. To an ambitious 
man, an honorable office will appear as beautiful and fas- 
cinating, as the apple of Paradise. 

I admit, sir, that ambition is a passion, at once the most 

25 powerful and the most useful. Without it, human affairs 
would become a mere stagnant pool. By means of his 
patronage, the president addresses himself, in the most irre- 
sistible manner, to this, the noblest and strongest of our 
passions. All that the imagination can desire, — honor, 

30 power, wealth, ease, — are held out, as the temptation. Man 
was not made to resist such temptations. It is impossible 
to conceive, — Satan himself could not devise, — a system 
which would more infallibly introduce corruption and death, 
into our political Eden. Sir, the angels fell from heaven, 

35 with less temptation. 

LESSON CXCIX. INTELLIGENCE NECESSARY TO PERPETUATE 

INDEPENDENCE. DAWES. 

That education is one of the deepest principles of inde- 
pendence, need not be labored in this assembly. In arbi- 
trary governments, where the people neither make the law, 
nor choose those who legislate, the more ignorance, the 
5 more peace. But in a government, where the people fill 
all the branches of the sovereignty, intelligence is the life 



368 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 




of liberty. An American would resent his being denied 
the use of his musket ; but he would deprive himself of a 
stronger safeguard, if he should want that learning which 
is necessary to a knowledge of the constitution. It is easy 
5 to see, that our Agrarian law, and the law of education, 
were calculated to make republicans, to make men. Ser- 
vitude could never long consist with the habits of such 
citizens. Enlightened minds, and virtuous manners, lead 
to the gates of glory. 

10 The sentiment of independence must have been connat- 
ural in the bosoms of Americans ; and, sooner or later, must 
have blazed out, into public action. Independence fits the 
soul of her residence, for every noble enterprise of humanity 
and greatness. Her radiant smile lights up celestial ardor 

15 in poets and orators, who sound her praises through all 
ages ; in legislators and philosophers, who fabricate wise 
and happy governments, as dedications to her fame ; in 
patriots and heroes, who shed their lives in sacrifice to her 
divinity. At this idea, do not our minds swell with the 

20 memory of those, whose godlike virtues have founded her 
most magnificent temple in America ? It is easy for us to 
maintain her doctrines, at this late day, when there is but 
one party, on the subject, an immense people. 

But what tribute shall we bestow, what sacred psean 

25 shall we raise over the tombs of those who dared, in the 
face of unrivalled power, and within the reach of majesty, 
to blow the blast of freedom throughout a subject conti- 
nent ? Nor did those brave countrymen of ours only ex- 
press the emotions of glory; the nature of their principles 

30 inspired them with the power of practice, and they offered 
their bosoms to the shafts of battle. Bunker's awful mount 
is the capacious urn of their ashes ; but the flaming bounds 
of the universe could not limit the flight of their minds. 
They fled to the union of kindred souls ; and those who 

35 fell at the strait of Thermopylas, and those who bled on the 
heights of Charlestown, now reap congenial joys, in the 
fields of the blessed. 



LESSON CC. — SOUTH AMERICj\N REPUBLICS. — DANIEL WEBSTER. 

Sir, I do not wish to overrate, — I do not overrate, — the 
progress of these new states in the great work of establish- 
ing a well-secured popular liberty, I know that to be a 
great attainment, and I know they are but pupils in the 
school. But, thank God, they are in the school. They 
are called to meet difficulties, such as neither we nor our 



PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 

fathers encountered. For these we ought to make large 
allowances. What have we ever known, like the colonial 
vassalage of these stales ? When did we or our ancestors 
feel, like them, the weight of a political despotism that 
5 presses men to the earth, or of that religious intolerance 
which would shut up heaven to all but the bigoted ? Sir, 
we sprung from another stock. We belong to another 
race. We have known nothing, — we have felt nothing,— 
of the political despotism of Spain, nor of the heat of her 

10 fires of intolerance. 

No rational man expects that the south can run the same 
rapid career as the north ; or that an insurgent province of 
Spain is in the same condition as the English colonies, 
when they first asserted their independence. There is, 

15 doubtless, much more to be done in the first, than in the 
last case. But, on that account, the honor of the attempt 
is not less ; and if all difficulties shall be in time sur- 
mounted, it will be greater. The work may be more ar- 
duous ; it is not less noble, because there may be more of 

20 ignorance to enlighten, — more of bigotry to subdue, — more 
of prejudice to eradicate. 

If it be a weakness to feel a strong interest in the suc- 
cess of these great revolutions, I confess myself guilty of 
that weakness. If it be weak, to feel that I am an Ameri- 

25 can, to think that recent events have not only opened new 
modes of intercourse, but have created also new grounds 
of regard and sympathy between ourselves and our neigh- 
bors ; if it be weak to feel that the south, in her present 
state, is somewhat more emphatically a part of America, 

30 than when she lay obscure, oppressed and unknown, under 
the grinding bondage of a foreign power ; if it be weak to 
rejoice, when, even in any corner of the earth, human be- 
ings are able to get up from beneath oppression, to erect 
themselves, and to enjoy the proper happiness of their in- 

35 telligent nature ; — if this be weak, it is a weakness from 
which I claim no exemption. 

A day of solemn retribution now visits the once proud 
monarchy of Spain. The prediction is fulfilled. The 
spirit of Montezuma, and of the Incas, might now well say, 

40 " Art thou, too, fallen, Iberia ? Do we see 

The robber and the murderer weak as we? 
Thou ! that hast wasted earth, and dared despise 
Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies, — 
Thy pomp is in the grave ; thy glory laid 

45 Low in the pit thine avarice has made." 



370 



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[part II. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



80 



LESSON CCL EXCELLENCE OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 

Beattie. 

Is it big-otry to believe the sublime truths of the Gospel, 
with full assurance of faith ? I glory in such bigotry. I 
would not part with it for a thousand worlds. I congratu- 
late the man who is possessed of it : for, amidst all the 
vicissitudes and calamities of the present state, that man 
enjoys an inexhaustible fund of consolation, of which it is 
not in the power of fortune to deprive him. 

There is not a book on earth, so favorable to all the kind, 
and ali the sublime affections ; or so unfriendly to hatred 
and persecution, to tyranny, to injustice, and every sort of 
malevolence, as the Gospel. It breathes nothing through- 
out, but mercy, benevolence, and peace. 

Poetry is sublime, when it awakens in the mind any 
great and good affection, as piety or patriotism. This is 
one of the noblest effects of the art. The Psalms are re- 
markable, beyond all other writings, for their power of 
inspiring devout emotions. But it is not in this respect 
only, that they are sublime. Of the divine nature, they 
contain the most magnificent descriptions, that the soul of 
man can comprehend. The hundred and fourth Psalm, in 
particular, displays the power and goodness of Providence, 
in creating and preserving the world, and the various tribes 
of animals in it, with such majestic brevity and beauty, as 
it is vain to look for in any human composition. 

Such of the doctrines of the Gospel, as are level to hu- 
man capacity, appear to be agreeable to the purest truth, 
and the soundest morality. All the genius and learning 
of the heathen world, all the penetration of Pythagoras, 
Socrates, and Aristotle, had never been able to produce 
such a system of moral duty, and so rational an account 
of Providence and of man, as are to be found in the New 
Testament. Compared, indeed, with this, all other moral 
and theological wisdom 

Loses, discountenanced, and hke folly shows. 



LESSON ecu. SPEECH OF MR. GRIFFIN AGAINST CHEETHAM. 

1 am one of those who believe, that the heart of the wil- 
ful and the deliberate libeller, is blacker than that of the 
highway robber, or of one who commits the crime of mid- 
night arson. The man who plunders on the highway, may 
5 have the semblance of an apology for what he does. An 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 371 

affectionate wife may demand subsistence ; a circle of 
helpless children raise to him the supplicating hand for 
food. He may be driven to the desperate act, by the high 
mandate of imperative necessity. The mild features of 
5 the husband and the father, may intermingle with those of 
the robber, and soften the roughness of the shade. But 
the robber of character plunders that which "not enricheth 
him," though it makes his neighbor " poor indeed." 

The man who, at the midnight hour, consumes his neigh- 

10 bor's dwelling, does him an injury which perhaps is not 
irreparable. Industry may rear another habitation. The 
storm may indeed descend upon him, until charity opens a 
neighboring door : the rude winds of heaven may whistle 
around his uncovered family. But he looks forward to 

15 better days ; he has yet a hook to hang a hope on. 

No such consolation cheers the heart of him whose char- 
acter has been torn from him. If innocent, he may look, 
like Anaxagoras, to the heavens ; but he must be constrained 
to feel, that this world is to him a wilderness. For whith- 

20 er shall he go ? Shall he dedicate himself to the service 
of his country ? But will his country receive him ? Wilf 
she employ in her councils, or in her armies, the man at 
whom the "slow, unmoving finger of scorn" is pointed? 
Shall he betake himself to the fire-side ? The story of his 

25 disgrace will enter his own doors before him. And can he 
bear, think you, can he bear the sympathizing agonies of 
a distressed wife ? Can he endure the formidable presence 
of scrutinizing, sneering domestics ? Will his children 
receive instruction from the lips of a disgraced father? 

30 Gentlemen, I am not ranging on fairy ground. I am 
telling the plain story of my client's wrongs. By the 
ruthless hand of malice, his character has been wantonly 
massacred ; — and he now appears before a jury of his 
country for redress. Will you deny him this redress ? 

35 — Is character valuable ? On this point I will not insult 
you with argument. There are certain things, to argue 
which is treason against nature. The Author of our be- 
ing did not intend to leave this point afloat at the mercy of 
opinion ; but, with his own hand, has he kindly planted in 

40 the soul of man an instinctive love of character. 

This high sentiment has no affinity to pride. It is the 
ennobling quality of the soul : and if we have hitherto been 
elevated above the ranks of surrounding creation, human 
nature owes its elevation to the love of character. It is the 



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[part II. 



love of character for which the poet has sung, the philoso- 
pher toiled, the hero bled. It is the love of character 
which wrought miracles at ancient Greece ; the love of 
character is the eagle on which Rome rose to empire. 
5 And it is the love of character animating the bosom of her 
sons, on which America must depend in those approaching 
crises that may " try men's souls." Will a jury weaken 
this our nation's hope ? Will they by their verdict pro- 
nounce to the youth of our country, that character is scarce 

10 worth possessing? 

We read of that philosophy which can smile over the 
destruction of property, — of that religion which enables its 
possessor to extend the benign look of forgiveness and com- 
placency, to his murderers. But it is not in the soul of 

15 man to bear the laceration of slander. The philosophy 
which could bear it, we should despise. The religion 
which could bear it, we should not despise, — ^but we should 
be constrained to say, that its kingdom was not of this 
world. 



LESSON CCIII. SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE AND CAPTAIN ABSO- 
LUTE . — Sheridan. 

Capt. A. Sir Anthony, I am delighted to see you here, 
and looking so well ! Your sudden arrival at Bath made 
me apprehensive for your health. 

Sir A. Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. What, 
5 you are recruiting here, hey ? 

Capt. A. Yes, sir, I am on duty. 

Sir A. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did 

not expect it ; for I was going to write to you on a little 

matter of business. Jack, I have been considering that I 

10 grow old and infirm, and shall probably not be with you 

long. 

Capt. A. Pardon me, sir, I never saw* you look more 
strong and hearty; and I pray fervently that you may 
continue so. 
15 Sir A. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my 
heart. Well then. Jack, I have been considering that I 
am so strong and hearty, I may continue to plague you a 
long time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income 
of your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed 
20 you, is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit. 

Capt. A. Sir, you are very good. 



TART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 373 

Sir A. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have 
my boy make some figure in the world. I have re- 
solved, therefore, to fix you at once in a noble indepen- 
dence. 
5 Capt. A. Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Yet, sir, 
I presume you would not wish me to quit the army ? 

Sir A. Oh ! that shall be as your wife chooses. 

Capt. A. My wife, sir ! 

Sir A. Ay, ay, settle that between you ; settle that 
10 between you. 

Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say ? 

Sir A. Ay, a wife : why, did not I mention her before? 

Capt. A. Not a word of her, sir. 

Sir A. Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of 
15 is by a marriage ; the fortune is saddled with a wife ; but 
I suppose that makes no difference ? 

Capt. A. Sir, sir, you amaze me ! 

Sir A. What 's the matter with the fool ? — just now you 
were all gratitude and duty. 
20 Capt. A. I was, sir ; you talked to me of independence 
and a fortune, but not one word of a wife. 

Sir A. Why, what difference does that make ? Sir, 
if you have the estate, you must take it with the live 
stock on it, as it stands. 
25 Capt. A. Pray, sir, who is the lady ? 

Sir A. What 's that to you, sir ? Come, give me your 
promise to love, and to marry her directly. 

Capt. A. Sure, sir, that 's not very reasonable, to sum- 
mon my affections for a lady I know nothing of! 
30 Sir A. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable in you, 
to object to a lady you know nothing of, — 

Capt. A. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once 
for all, that in this point I can not obey you. 

Sir A. Hark ye, Jack ; I have heard you for some 

35 time with patience, — I have been cool, — -quite cool : but 

take care ; you know I am compliance itself, when I am 

not thwarted ; no one more easily led, when I have my 

own way ; but don't put me in a frenzy. 

Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it ; in this I can not obey 
40 you. 

Sir A. Now, hang me, if ever I call you Jack again, 
while I live ! 

Capt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me. 

Sir A. Sir, I won't hear a word, not a word ! not one 
32 



374 



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1 

[part II. ^i 



« 



word ! So give me your promise by a nod, and I '11 tell 
you what, Jack, — I mean you dog, — if you don't by 

Capt. A. What, sir, promise to link myself to some 

mass of ugliness ; to 

5 Sir A. Zounds ! sirrah ! the lady shall be as ngly as I 
choose : she shall have a hump on each shoulder ; she 
shall be as crooked as the crescent ; her one eye shall roll 
like the bull's in Cox's museum ; she shall have a skin 
like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew. She shall be all 
10 this, sirrah! Yes, I'll make you ogle her all day, and 
sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty. 

Capt. A. This is reason and moderation, indeed ! 

Sir A, None of your sneering, puppy ! no grinning, 
jackanapes ! 
15 Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor 
for mirth in my life. 

Sir A. 'T is false, sir ; I know you are laughing in 
your sleeve ; I know you '11 grin when I am gone, sir- 
rah I 
20 Capt. A. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. 

Sir A. None of your passion, sir ! none of your vio- 
lence, if you please ; it won't do with me, I promise 
you. 

Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I was never cooler in my life. 
25 Sir A. 'T is a ccmfounded lie ! I know you are in a 
passion in your heart; I know you are a hypocritical 
young dog ; but it wont do. 

Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my word, — 

Sir A. So you will fly out ! Can't you be cool, like 
30 me? What good can passion do? Passion is of no service, 
you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate ! There, 
you sneer again ! Don't provoke me ! But you rely upon 
the mildness of my temper, you do, you dog ! You play 
upon the meekness of my disposition ! Yet take care ; 
35 the patience of a saint may be overcome at last ! But 
mark! I- give you six hours and a half to consider of 
this ; if you then agree, without any condition, to do 
every thing on earth that I choose, why, confound you ! I 
may in time forgive you. If not, don't enter the same 
40 hemisphere with me ! don't dare to breathe the same air, 
or use the same light with me ; but get an atmosphere 
and a sun of your own : I '11 strip you of your commis- 
sion ; I '11 lodge a five-and-three-pence in the hands of 
trustees, and you shall live on the interest. I '11 disown 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 375 

you ; I '11 disinherit you ; and hang me, if ever I call you 
Jack again ! [Exit. 

Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father, I kiss your 
hands. 

LESSON cciv. — Antony's address to the roman poptt- 

LACE . — Shakspeare. 

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears : 

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 

The evil, that men do, lives after them ; 

The good is oft interred with their bones : 
5 So let it be with Caesar ! The noble Brutus 

Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious. 

If it were so, it was a grievous fault : — 

And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 

Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
10 (For Brutus is an honorable man. 

So are they all, all honorable men ;) 

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 

But Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
15 And Brutus is an honorable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 

Did this, in Caesar, seem ambitious ? 

When that the poor hath cried, Caesar hath wept : 
20 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. 

Yet Brutus skys, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

You all did see, that, on- the Lupercal, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown ; 
25 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And sure he is an honorable man. 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 
30 You all did love him once, not without cause : 

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 

judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts. 

And men have lost their reason. — Bear with me : 

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar ; 
35 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 

Have stood against the world : now lies he there, 



376 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

And none so poor to do him reverence. 

Masters ! If I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
5 Who, you all know, are honorable men. 

I will not do them wrong, — I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 

Than I will wrong such honorable men. 

But here 's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar ; 
10 I found it in his closet : 't is his will. 

Let but the commons hear this testament, 

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds. 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, — 
15 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 

Bequeathing it as a rich legacy, 

Unto their issue. 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
20 You all do know this mantle : I remember 

The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
. 'T was on a summer's evening in his tent : 

That day he overcame the Nervii : — 

Look ! In this place, ran Cassius' dagger through : — 
25 See, what a rent the envious Casca made, — 

Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed; 

And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 

Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it ! — 

This was the most unkindest"^ cut of all ! 
30 For, when the noble Caesar saw him stab. 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms. 

Quite vanquished him ! Then burst his mighty heart : 

And, in his mantle, muffling up his face, 

Even at the base of Pompey's statua,t 
35 Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 

Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen I 

Then I and you, and all of us, fell down ; 

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 

Oh, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel 

* This double superlative, like " the most straitest sect of our reli- 
gion," (Acts xxvi. 5,) was tolerated by the best English writers, 
two or three centuries ago. 

f Statua, for statue, is common among the old writers. 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 377 

The dint of pity : — ^these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls I What ! weep you when you but behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look ye here ! — 
Here is himself, — marred, as you see, by traitors. 
5 Good friends ! sweet friends ! Let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny ! 
They th^t have done this deed are honorable ! 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do it ! They are wise and honorable, 

10 And will, no doubt, with reason answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ! 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
\But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 
That love my friend, — and that they know full well, 

15 That gave me public leave to speak of him ! 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : — I only speak right on : 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know, — 

20 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, 
And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 

25 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 



LESSON CCV. THE VICTOR ANGELS. MUtOTl. 

Now when fair morn orient in Heaven appeared. 
Up rose the victor Angels, and to arms 
The matin trumpet sung : in arms they stood 
Of golden panoply, refulgent host, 
5 Soon banded ; others from the dawning hills 

Looked round, and scouts each coast light armed scour 
Each quarter, to descry the distant foe, 
Where lodged, or whither fled, or if for fight, 
In motion or in halt : him soon they met 

10 Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow 
But firm battalion ; back with speediest sail 
Zophiel, of Cherubim the swiftest wing. 
Came flying, and in mid air aloud thus cried; 
*Arm, Warriors, arm for fight. — the foe at hand, 

15 Whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit 
This day ; fear not his flight : so thick a cloud 
82^ 



378 AMERICAN COMBION-SCHOOL [PART 11. 

He comes ; and settled in his face I see 

Sad resolution and secure : let each 

His adamantine coat gird well, — and each 

Fit well his helm, — gripe fast his orbed shield, 
5 Borne even or high ; for this day will pour down, 

If I conjecture aught, no drizzling shower, 

But rattling storm of arrows barbed with fir§." 
So warned he them, aware themselves, and soon 

In order, quit of all impediment; 
10 Instant, w^ilhout disturb, they took alarm. 

And onward move, embattled : when behold ! 

Not distant far, with heavy pace the foe, 

Approaching, gross and huge, in hollow cube, 

Training his devilish enginery, impaled 
15 On every side with shadowing squadrons deep, 

To hide the fraud. At interview both stood 

Awhile ; but suddenly at head appeared 

Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud ; 
" Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold ; 
20 That all may see who hate us, how we seek 

Peace and composure, and with open breast 

Stand ready to receive them, if they like 

Our overture, and turn not back perverse." 



LESSON CCVI. IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICAN SEAMEN.— 

HENRY CLAY. 

Who is prepared to say, that American seamen shall be 
surrendered, as victims, to the British principle of impress- 
ment ? And, sir, what is this principle ? She contends, 
that she has a right to the services of her own subjects ; 
5 and that, in the exercise of this right, she may lawfully 
impress them, even although she finds them in American 
vessels, upon the high seas, without her jurisdiction. Now 
I deny that she has any right, beyond her jurisdiction, to 
come on board our vessels, upon the high seas, for any 

10 other purpose, than in the pursuit of enemies, or their 
goods, or goods contraband of war. 

But she further contends, that her subjects cannot 
renounce their allegiance to her, and contract a new obli- 
gation to other sovereigns. I do not mean to go into the 

15 general question of the right of expatriation. If, as is 
contended, all nations deny it, all nations, at the same 
time, admit and practice the right of naturalization. Great 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 379 

Britain herself does this. Great Britain, in the very case 
of foreign seamen, imposes, perhaps, fewer restraints npon 
naturalization, than any other nation. Then, if subjects 
cannot break their original allegiance, they may, accord- 
5 ing to universal usage, contract a new allegiance. 

What is the effect of this double obligation ? Undoubt- 
edly, that the sovereign having the possession of the 
subject, would have the right to the services of the sub- 
ject. If he return within the jurisdiction of his primitive 

10 sovereign, he may resume his right to his services, of 
which the subject, by his own act, could not divest him- 
self. But his primitive sovereign can have no right to go 
in quest of him, out of his own jurisdiction, into the juris- 
diction of another sovereign, or upon the high seas ; 

1.5 where there exists no jurisdiction, or it is possessed by 
the nation owning the ship navigating them. 

But, sir, this discussion is altogether useless. It is not 
to the British principle, objectionable as it is, that we are 
alone to look ; it is to her practice, no matter what guise 

20 she puts on. It is in vain to assert the inviolability of the 
obligation of allegiance. It is in vain to set up the plea 
of necessity, and to allege that she cannot exist without 
the impressment of her seamen. The naked truth is, she 
comes, by her press-gangs, on board of our vessels, seizes 

25 our native as well as naturalized seamen, and drags them 
into her service. 

It is the case, then, of the assertion of an erroneous 
principle, and of a practice not conformable to the asserted 
principle, — a principle which, if it were theoretically right, 

30 must be forever practically wrong, — a practice which can 
obtain countenance from no principle whatever, and to 
submit to which, on our part, would betray the most abject 
degradation. 



LESSON CCVII.— " NEW ENGLAND, WHAT IS SHE ? * DELENDA 

EST CARTHAGO.'" TRISTAM BURGESS. 

The policy of the gentleman from Virginia, calls him to 
a course of legislation resulting in the entire destruction 
of one part of our Union. Oppress New England, until 
she shall be compelled to remove her manufacturing labor 
and capital to the regions of iron, wool, and grain, and 
nearer to those of rice and cotton. Oppress New England, 
until she shall be compelled to remove her commercial 



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[part II. 



labor and capital to New York, Norfolk, Charleston, and 
Savannah. Finally, oppress that proscribed region, until 
she shall be compelled to remove her agricultural labor 
and capital, — her agricultural capital ? No, she cannot 
5 remove that. Oppress and compel her, nevertheless, to 
remove her agricultural labor to the far-off West ; and 
there people the savage valley, and cultivate the deep 
wilderness of the Oregon. 

She must, indeed, leave her agricultural capital ; hejf 

10 peopled fields ; her hills with culture carried to their tops ; 
her broad deep bays ; her wide transparent lakes, long- 
winding ri^^ers, and populous waterfalls ; her delightful 
villages, flourishing towns, and wealthy cities. She must 
leave this land, bought by the treasure, subdued by the 

15 toil, defended by the valor of men, vigorous, athletic, and 
intrepid ; men, god-like in all making man resemble the 
moral image of his Maker ; a land endeared, oh ! how 
deeply endeared, because shared with women pure as the 
snows of their native mountains ; bright, lofty, and over- 

20 awing, as the clear, circumambient heavens over their 
heads ; and yet lovely as the fresh opening bosom of their 
own blushing and blooming June. 

" Mine own romantic country," must we leave thee ? 
Beautiful patrimony of the wise and good ; enriched from 

25 the economy, and ornamented by the labor and perseve- 
rance of two hundred years ! Must we leave thee, vener- 
able heritage of ancient justice and pristine faith? And, 
God of our fathers ! must we leave thee to the dema- 
gogues who have deceived, and traitorously sold us ? We 

30 must leave thee to them ; and to the remnants of the 
Penobscots, the Pequods, the Mohicans, and Narragan- 
setts ; that they may lure back the far-retired bear, from 
the distant forest, again to inhabit in the young wilder- 
ness, growing up in our flourishing cornfields, and rich 

35 meadows ; and spreading, with briars and brambles, over 
our most "pleasant places." 

All this shall come to pass, to the intent that New 
England may again become a lair for wild beasts, and a 
hunting-ground for savages ; the graves of our parents 

40 be polluted ; and the place made holy by the first footsteps 
of our pilgrim forefathers, become profaned by the mid- 
night orgies of barbarous incantation. The evening wolf 
shall again howl on our hills, and the echo of his yell 
mingle once more with the sound of our water-falls. The 



I 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. t^ 

sanctuaries of God shall be made desolate. Where now 
a whole people congregate in thanksgiving for the bene- 
factions of time, and in humble supplication for the 
mercies of eternity, there those very houses shall then be 
5 left without a tenant. The owl, at noon-day, may roost 
on the high altar of devotion, and the "fox look out at the 
window," on the utter solitude of a New England Sab- 
bath. 

New England shall, indeed, under this proscribing 

10 policy, be what Switzerland was, under that of France. 
New England, which, like Switzerland, is the eagle-nest 
of freedom ; New England, where, as in Switzerland, the 
cradle of infant liberty "was rocked by whirlwinds, in their 
rage ;" New England shall, as Switzerland was, in truth, 

15 be "the immolated victim, where nothing but the skin 
remains unconsumed by the sacrifice ;" New England, as 
Switzerland had, shall have " nothing left but her rocks, 
her ruins, and her demagogues." 

The mind, sir, capable of conceiving a project of mis- 

20 chief so gigantic, must have been early schooled, and 
deeply imbued with all the great principles of moral 
evil. 

What, then, sir, shall we say of a spirit, regarding this 
event as a " consummation devoutly to be wished ?" — a 

25 spirit, without one attribute, or one hope, of the pure in 
heart ; a spirit, which begins and ends every thing, not 
with prayer, but with imprecation ; a spirit, which blots 
from the great canon of petition, " Give us this day our 
daily bread ;" that, foregoing bodily nutriment, he may 

30 attain to a higher relish for that unmingled food, prepared 
and served up to a soul "hungering and thirsting after 
wickedness ;" a spirit, which, at every rising sun, exclaims, 
"Hodie ! hodie ! Carthago delenda .'" " To-day, to-day ! let 
New England be destroyed !" 



LESSON CCVIII. PARTY SPIRIT. WILLIAM GASTON. 

Threats of resistance, secession, separation, — have be- 
come common as household words, in the wicked and 
silly violence of public declaimers. The public ear is 
familiarized, and the public mind will soon be accustomed, 
5 to the detestable suggestions of Disunion ! Calculations 
and conjectures, What may the East do without the South, 



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[part II. 



and what may the South do without the East ? — sneers, 
- menaces, reproaches, and recriminations, all tend to the 
same fatal end ! What can the East do without the 
South ? What can the South do without the East ? 
5 If it must be so, let parties and party men continue to 
quarrel with little or no regard to the public good. They 
may mystify themselves and others with disputations on 
political economy, proving the most opposite doctrines to 
their own satisfaction, and perhaps, to the conviction of no 

10 one else on earth. They may deserve reprobation for 
their selfishness, their violence, their errors, or their 
wickedness. They may do our country much harm. 
They may retard its growth, destroy its harmony, impair 
its character, render its institutions unstable, pervert 

15 the public mind, and deprave the public morals. These 
are, indeed, evils, and sore evils, but the principle of life 
remains, and will yet struggle with assured success, over 
these temporary maladies. 

Still we are great, glorious, united, and free ; still we 

20 have a name that is revered abroad, and loved at home, — 
a name, which is a tower of strength to us against foreign 
wrong, and a bond of internal union and harmony, — a 
name, which no enemy pronounces but with respect, and 
which no citizen hears, but with a throb of exultation. 

25 Still we have that blessed Constitution, which, with all its 
pretended defects, and all its alleged violations, has con- 
ferred more benefit on man, than ever yet flowed from any 
other human institution, — which has established justice, 
insured domestic tranquillity, provided for the common 

30 defence, promoted the general welfare, and which, under 
God, if we be true to ourselves, will insure the blessings 
of Liberty to us and our posterity. 

Surely, such a country, and such a Constitution, have 
claims upon you, my friends, which cannot be disre- 

35 garded. I entreat and adjure you, then, by all that is 
near and dear to you on earth, by all the obligations of 
patriotism, by the memory of your fathers, who fell in the 
great and glorious struggle, for the sake of your sons, 
whom you would not have to blush for your degeneracy ; 

40 by all your proud recollections of the past, and all the 
fond anticipations of the future renown of our nation, — 
preserve that Country, — uphold that Constitution. Re- 
solve, that they shall not be lost, while in your keeping; and 
^may God Almighty strengthen you to perform that vow ! 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 383 

LESSON CCIX. RESTLESS SPIRIT OF MAN. WILBUR FISK. 

There is a spirit, an active, aspiring principle in man, 
which cannot be broken down by oppression, or satisfied 
by indulgence. 

" He has a soul of vast desires, 
5 It burns within with restless fires :" 

Desires, which no earthly good can satisfy ; fires, which 
no waters of affliction or discouragement can quench. 
And it is from this, his nature, that society derives all its 
interests, and here also lies all its danger. This spirit is 

10 at once the terror of tyrants, and the destroyer of repub- 
lics. 

To form some idea of its strength, let us look at it in 
its different conditions, both when it is depressed, and 
when it is exalted. See, when it is bent down, for a time, 

15 by the iron grasp and leaden sceptre of tyranny, cramping, 
and curtailing, and hedging in the soul, and foiling it in 
all its attempts to break from its bonds and assert its 
native independence. In these cases, the noble spirit, 
like a wild beast in the toils, sinks down, at times, into 

20 sullen inactivity, only that it may rise again, when 
exhausted nature is a little restored, to rush, as hope 
excites, or madness impels, in stronger paroxysms against 
the cords which bind it down. 

This is seen in the mobs and rebellions of the most 

25 besotted and enslaved nations. Witness the repeated con- 
vulsions in Ireland, that degraded and oppressed country. 
Neither desolating armies, nor numerous garrisons, nor 
the most rigorous administration, enforced by thousands 
of public executions, can break the spirit of that restless 

30 people. 

Witness Greece : generations have passed away, since 
the warriors of Greece have had their feet put in fetters, 
and the race of heroes had apparently become extinct ; 
and the Grecian lyre had long been unstrung, and her 

35 lights put out. Her haughty masters thought her spirit 
was dead ; but it was not dead, it only slept. In a 
moment, as it were, we saw all Greece in arms ; she shook 
oft^her slumbers, and rushed, with frenzy and hope, upon 
seeming impossibilities, to conquer or to die. 

40 We see, then, that man has a spirit, which is not easily 
broken down by oppression. Let us inquire, whether it 
can be more easily satisfied by indulgence. And, in every 



384 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

Step of this inquiry, we shall find that no miser ever yet 
had gold enough ; no office-seeker ever yet had honor 
enough ; no conqueror ever yet subdued kingdoms enough. 
When the rich man had filled his store-houses, he must 
5 pull down and build larger. When Csesar had conquered 
all his enemies, he must enslave his friends. 

When Bonaparte had become the Emperor of France, he 
aspired to the throne of all Europe. Facts, a thousand 
facts, in every age, and among all classes, prove, that such 

10 is the ambitious nature of the soul, such the increasing 
compass of its vast desires, that the material universe, 
with all its vastness, richness, and variety, cannot satisfy 
it. Nor is it in the power of the governments of this 
v/orld, in their most perfect forms, so to interest the feel- 

15 ings, so to regulate the desires, so to restrain the passions, 
or so to divert, or charm, or chain the souls of a whole 
community, but that these latent and ungovernable fires 
will, sooner or later, burst out and endanger the whole 
body politic. 

20 What has been the fate of the ancient republics ? They 
have been dissolved by this same restless and disorganiz- 
ing spirit, of which we have been speaking. And do we 
not see the same dangerous spirit, in our own compara- 
tively happy and strongly constituted republic ? 

25 Here, the road to honor and wealth is open to all ; and 
here, is general intelligence. But here, man is found to 
possess the same nature as elsewhere. And the stirrings 
of his restless spirit have already disturbed the peace of 
society, and portend future convulsions. Party spirit is 

30 begotten ; ambitious views are engendered, and fed, and 
inflamed ; many are running the race for office ; rivals 
are envied ; characters are aspersed ; animosities are en- 
kindled ; and the whole community are disturbed by the 
electioneering contest. 

35 . Already office-seekers, in different parts of the country, 
unblushingly recommend themselves to notice, and palm 
themselves upon the people, by every electioneering 
manoeuvre ; and in this way, such an excitement is pro- 
duced, in many parts of the Union, as makes the contend- 

40 ing parties almost like mobs, assailing each other. Only 
let the public sense become vitiated, and let a number of 
causes unite to produce a general excitement ; and all our 
fair political proportions would fall before the spirit of 



?ART IL] reader AND SPEAKER. 385 

parly, as certainly and as ruinously, as the fair propor- 
tions of Italian architecture fell before the ancient Goths 
and Vandals. 



LESSON CCX. RECTITUDE OF CHARACTER. ^WILLIAM WIRT. 

The man who is so conscious of the rectitude of his 
intentions, as to be willing to open his bosom to the 
inspection of the world, is in possession of one of the 
strongest pillars of a decided character. The course of 
5 such a man will be firm and steady, because he has 
nothing to fear from the world, and is sure of the appro- 
bation and support of Heaven. While he, who is con- 
scious of secret and dark designs, which, if known, would 
blast him, is perpetually shrinking and dodging from pub- 

10 lie observation, and is afraid of all around, and much 
more of all above him. 

Such a man may, indeed, pursue his iniquitous plans 
steadily ; he may waste himself to a skeleton in the guilty 
pursuit ; but it is impossible that he can pursue them with 

15 the same health-inspiring confidence, and exulting alacrity, 
with him who feels, at every step, that he is in pursuit of 
honest ends, by honest means. 

The clear, unclouded brow, the open countenance, the 
brilliant eye which can look an honest man steadfastly, 

20 yet courteously, in the face, the healthfully beating heart, 
and the firm, elastic step, belong to him whose bosom is 
free from guile, and who knows that all his motives and 
purposes are pure and right. Why should such a man 
falter in his course ? He may be slandered ; he may be 

25 deserted by the world ; but he has that within which will 
keep him erect, and enable him to move onward in his 
course, with his eyes fixed on Heaven, which he knows 
will not desert him. 

Let your first step, then, in that discipline which is to 

30 give you decision of character, be the heroic determination 
to be honest men, and to preserve this character through 
every vicissitude of fortune, and in every relation which 
connects you with society. I do not use this phrase, 
"honest men," in the narrow sense, merely, of meeting 

35 your pecuniary engagements, and paying your debts; for 
this the common pride of gentlemen will constrain you to 
do. 

I use it in its larger sense of discharging all your 
33 



386 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H. 

duties, both public and private, both open and secret, with 
the most scrupulous, Heaven-attesting integrity : in that 
sense, farther, which drives from the bosom all little, dark, 
crooked, sordid, debasing considerations of self, and sub- 
5 stitutes in their place a bolder, loftier, and nobler spirit : 
one that will dispose you to consider yourselves as born, 
not so much for yourselves, as for your country, and your 
fellow-creatures, and which will lead you to act, on every 
occasion, sincerely, justly, generously, magnanimously. 

10 There is a morality on a larger scale, perfectly con- 
sistent with a just attention to your own affairs, which it 
would be the height of folly to neglect; a generous 
expansion, a proud elevation, and conscious greatness of 
character, which is the best preparation for a decided 

15 course, in every situation into which you can be thrown ; 
and, it is to this high and noble tone of character that I 
would have you to aspire. 

I would not have you to resemble those weak and 
meagre streamlets, which lose their direction at every 

20 petty impediment that presents itself, and stop, and turn 
back, and creep around, and search out every little chan- 
nel through which they may wind their feeble and sickly 
course. Nor yet would I have you to resemble the head- 
long torrent that carries havoc in its mad career. 

25 But I would have you like the ocean, that noblest 
emblem of majestic Decision, which, in the calmest hour, 
still heaves its resistless might of waters to the shore, fill- 
ing the heavens, day and night, with the echoes of its 
sublime Declaration of Independence, and tossing and 

30 sporting on its bed, with an imperial consciousness of 
strength that laughs at opposition. It is this depth, and 
weight, and power, and purity of character, that I would 
have you to resemble ; and I would have you, like the 
waters of the ocean, to become the purer by your own 

35 action. 

LESSON CCXI. WASHINGTON. DANIEL WEBSTER. 

America has furnished to the world the character of 
Washington ! And if our American institutions had done 
nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the 
respect of mankind, 
5 Washington ! " First in war, first in peace, and first in 
the hearts of his countrymen !" Washington is all our 
own ! The enthusiastic veneration and regard in which 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 387 

the people of the United States hold him, prove them to 
be worthy of such a countryman; while his reputation 
abroad reflects the highest honor on his country and its 
institutions. I would cheerfully put the question to-day 
5 to the intelligence of Europe, and the world, what character 
of the century, upon the whole, stands out in the relief of 
history, most pure, most respectable, most sublime ; and I 
doubt not, that, by a suffrage approaching to unanimity, 
the answer would be, Washington ! 

10 This structure,^ by its uprightness, its solidity, its dura- 
bility, is no unfit emblem of his character. His public vir- 
tues and public principles were as firm as the earth on 
which it stands ; his personal motives, as pure as the se- 
rene heaven in which its summit is lost. But, indeed, 

15 though a fit, it is an inadequate emblem. Towering high 
above the column which our hands have builded, beheld, 
not by the inhabitants of a single city, or a single state, — 
ascends the colossal grandeur of his character, and his life. 
In all the constituents of the one, — in all the acts of the 

20 other, — in all its titles to immortal love, admiration, and 
renown, — it is an American production. It is the embod- 
iment and vindication of our transatlantic liberty. Born 
upon our soil, — of parents also born upon it, — never for a 
moment having had a sight of the old world, — instructed, 

25 according to the modes of his time, only in the spare, plain, 
but wholesome elementary knowledge, which our institu- 
tions provide for the children of the people, — growing up 
beneath, and penetrated by, the genuine influences of 
American society, — growing up amidst our expanding, 

30 but not luxurious, civilization, — partaking in our great 
destiny of labor, our long contest with unreclaimed nature 
and uncivilized man, — our agony of glory, the war of in- 
dependence, — our great victory of peace, the formation of 
the Union, and the establishment of the Constitution, — he 

35 is all, — all our own ! That crowded and glorious life, — 

'^ Where maltitades of virtues passed along, 
Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng, 
Contending to be seen, then making room 
For greater multitudes that were to come 3" — 

40 that life was the life of an American citizen. 

I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every 
darkened moment of the state, in the midst of the re- 

* The Bunker Hill Monument. 



388 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IT. 

proaches of enemies and the misgivings of friends, — I turn 
to that transcendent name, for courage and for consolation. 
To him who denies, or doubts, whether our fervid liberty- 
can be combined with law, with order, with the security 
of property, with the pursuits and advancement of happi- 
5 ness, — to him who denies that our institutions are capable 
of producing exaltation of soul, and the passion of true 
glory, — to him who denies that we have contributed any- 
thing to the stock of great lessons and great examples, — 
to all these I reply by pointing to Washington ! 



LESSON CCXIL PUBLIC FAITH. FISHER AMES. 

To expatiate on the value of public faith, may pass, with 
some men, for declamation, — to such men I have nothing to 
say. To others I will urge, — can any circumstance mark 
upon a people more turpitude and debasement, than the 
5 want of it ? Can anything tend more to make men think 
themselves mean, or degrade to a lower point their esti- 
mation of virtue, than such a standard of action ? 

It would not merely demoralize mankind; it tends to 
break all the ligaments of society, to dissolve that myste- 
10 rious charm which attracts individuals to the nation, and 
to inspire, in its stead, a repulsive sense of shame and dis- 
gust. 

What is patriotism ? Is it a narow affection for the spot 
where a man was born ? Are the very clods where we 
15 tread entitled to this ardent preference because they are 
greener? No, sir, this is not the character of the virtue; 
and it soars higher for its object. It is an extended self- 
iiliiiil'- ' love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting 

IliliM* I itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus 

20 we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of 
virtue. In their authority we see, not the array of force 
and terror, but the venerable image of our country's honor. 
Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cher- 
ishes it not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing 
25 to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious that he 
gains protection while he gives it. For what rights of a 
citizen will be deemed inviolable, when a state renounces 
the principles that constitute their security ? Or if his life 
,„ should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be, in a 

|||l|j||i ' 30 country odious in the eyes of strangers, and dishonored in 

!'. ■^' his own? Could he look with afTection and veneration to 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 389 

such a country, as his parent ? The sense of having one 
would die within him ; he would blush for his patriotism, 
if he retained any, and justly, for it would be a vice. He 
would be a banished man in his native land. 
5 I see no exception to the respect, that is paid among 
nations, to the law of good faith. If there are cases in this 
enlightened period, when it is violated, there are none 
when it is decried. It is the philosophy of politics, the 
religion of governments. It is observed by barbarians,— 

10 a whiff of tobacco smoke, or a string of beads, gives not 
merely binding force, but sanctity to treaties. Even in 
Algiers, a truce may be bought for money, but when rati- 
fied, even Algiers is too wise, or too just, to disown and 
annul its obligation. Thus we see, neither the ignorance 

15 of savages, nor the principles of an association for piracy 
and rapine, permit a nation to despise its engagements. If, 
sir, there could be a resurrection from the foot of the gal- 
lows, if the victims of justice could live again, collect 
together and form a society, they would, however loath, 

20 soon find themselves obliged to make justice, that justice 
under which they fell, the fundamental law of their state. 
They would perceive it was their interest to make others 
respect, and they would therefore soon pay some respect 
themselves to the obligations of good faith. 

25 It is painful, I hope it is superfluous, to make even the 
supposition, that America should furnish the occasion of 
this opprobrium. No, let me not even imagine that a re- 
publican government sprung, as our own is, from a people 
enlightened and uncorrupted, a government whose origin 

30 is right, and whose daily discipline is duty, can, upon 
solemn debate, make its option to be faithless, — can dare 
to act what despots dare not avow, what our own example 
evinces, the states of Barbary are unsuspected of. No, let 
me rather make the supJDosition, that Great Britain refuses 

35 to execute the treaty, after we have done every thing to 
carry it into effect. Is there any language of reproach, 
pungent enough to express your commentary on the fact ? 
What would you say, or rather what would you not say? 
Would you not tell them, wherever an Englishman might 

40 travel, shame would stick to him, — he would disown his 

country. You would exclaim, England, proud of your 

wealth, and arrogant in the possession of power, — blush 

for these distinctions, which become the vehicles of your 

33=^ 



390 ARtERlCAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT 11. 

dishonor. Such a nation might truly say to corruption, 
thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother 
and m.y sister. We should say of such a race of men, 
their name is a heavier burden than their debt. 



LESSON CGXm.— FREE INSTITUTIONS FAVORABLE TO LITERA- 
TURE.— EDTfARD EVERETT. 

The greatest efforts of human genius have been made, 
where the nearest approach to free institutions has taken 
place. There shone not forth one ray of intellectual light, 
to cheer the long and gloomy ages of the Memphian and 
6 Babylonian despots. Not a historian, not an orator, not 
a poet, is heard of in their annals. When you ask, what 
was achieved by the generations of thinking beings, the 
millions of men, whose natural genius was as bright as 
. that of the Greeks, nay, who forestalled the Greeks in the 

10 first invention of many of the arts,— you are told, that 
they built the pyramids of Memphis, the temples of 
Thebes, and the tower of Babylon, and carried Sesostris 
and Ninus upon their shoulders, from the west of Africa 
to the Indus. 

15 Mark the contrast in Greece. With the first emerging 
of that country into the light of political liberty, the poems 
of Homer appear. Some centuries of political misrule and 
literary darkness follow ; and then the great constellation 
of their geniuses seems to arise at once. The stormy elo- 

20 quence and the deep philosophy, the impassioned drama 
and the grave history, were all produced for the entertain- 
ment of that " fierce democracie " of Athens. Here, then, 
the genial influence of liberty on letters, is strongly put to 
the test. Athens was certainly a free state ; free to iicen- 

25 tiousness, — free to madness. The rich were arbitrarily 
pillaged to defray the expenses of the state ; the great 
were banished to appease the envy of their rivals ; the 
v/ise sacrificed to the fury of the populace. It was a state, 
in short, where liberty existed with most of the imperfec- 

30 tions which have led men to love and praise despotism. 
Still, however, it was for this lawless, merciless people, 
that the most chastised and accomplished literature, which 
the world has known, was produced. 

The philosophy of Plato was the attraction which drew, 



I 



?ART 11.] HEADER AN© SPEAKER, 391 

to a morning's walk in the olive gardens of the academy, 
ihe young- men of this factious city. Those tumultuous 
assemblies of Athens,— the very same, Vv^iich rose in 
their wrath, and to a man clamored for the blood of 
5 Phocion, — required to be addre&sed, not in the cheap, 
extemporaneous rant of modern demagogues, but in the 
elaborate and thrice-repeated orations of Demosthenes, 
No ! the noble and elegant arts of Greece grew up in no 
Augustan age, — enjoyed neither roj'-al nor imperial patron- 

10 age.- Unknown before in the world, strangers on the 
Nile, and strangers on the Euphrates, they sprang at once 
into life in a region not unlike our own New England, — 
iron-bound, sterile, and free. 

The imperial astronomers of Chaldea went up almost 

15 to the stars in their observatories ; but it was a Greek who 
first foretold an eclipse, and measured the year. The 
nations of the East invented the alphabet ; but not a line 
has reached us of profane literature, in any of their lan- 
guages, — and it is owing to the embalming power of 

20 Grecian genius, that the invention itself has been trans- 
mitted to the world. The Egyptian architects could erect 
structures, which, after three thousand five hundred years, 
are still standing in their uncouth, original majesty ; but it 
was ority on the barren soil of Attica, that the beautiful 

25 columns of the Parthenon and the Theseum could rest, 
which are standing also. With the decline of liberty in 
Greece, began the decline of all her letters, and all her 
arts, though her tumultuous democracies were succeeded 
by liberal and accomplished princes. 



LESSON CCXIV. THE STUDY OF ELOCUTION NECESSARY FOR 

A PREACHER. PROF. PARK. 

Among ail the attractions of divine worship, there is 
Bone like that of the preacher's natural eloquence. No 
instrument of music is so sweet as the human voice, when 
attuned, as it may be, by care. The most exhilarating 
i5 band of performers on the dulcimer and the cymbal, will 
be heard with less pleasure, than he who has learned to 
play well on that instrument which is as far superior to 
all others, as a work of God is superior to the works of 
man. Let it then no longer be said, that while an organ- 



892 



AMERICAN COMEION-SCHOOL 



[FAET II. 



ist will spend years in learning to manag© a collection of 
leaden pipes, the preacher is unwilling to exert himself 
for acquiring a control over the stops and keys of what is 
far more religions in its tones, than the organ. So, like- 
5 wise, the human eye can be made eloquent, when the 
tongne can say no more ; the palm of the hand, too, has 
an eye which is full of meaning. But the philosophy 
of these organs is neither understood, nor applied to prac- 
tice, by our preachers. 

10 If we dwelt in a land, where the preacher is the only 
man who ventures to address an assembly, then we might 
lean on this privilege, and rest assured, that a faulty elo^ 
quence in the pulpit, is better than none at all among the 
people. Bat we dwell in a land, where the laymen are 

15 popular orators ; where the mechanic is master of" a racy, 
vigorous diction ; where the reformed inebriate can elec- 
trify an audience who will sleep under a lifeless sermon ; 
where the enemies of religion and social order, have 
caught the spirit and the fire which the ministry have 

20 lost. Other men can speak without reading ; and unless 
we can use, in a good cause, the weapons which infidels 
use in a bad one, we shall surrender the truth to dangers 
which can arise nowhere, but in a republic. Nowhere, 
but in this republic, is the force of popular eloquence felt 

25 universally ; and the church wall be overborne, if this 
force be not controlled with unwonted skill. 

We have not sought to recover the naturalness of man- 
ner which an artificial education has perverted. We still 
allow our theological seminaries to remain destitute of all 

80 adequate instruction on this theme. It is confidently be- 
lieved, that, if professorships of elocution were properly 
endowed and supplied in our theological seminaries, a 
more immediate and a more manifest service would be 
rendered to the pulpit, than can be performed by almost 

85 any other charity ; for the department of elocution is now 
more neglected than any other ; and if nature were allowed 
to resume the place, from which the worst species of art 
has expelled it, the improvement in our speech would be 
seen and felt more easily, quicJcly, and generally^ than 

40 almost any other kind of improvement. 



rAET II.] EEADER AND SPEAKEFv, S93 

LESSON CCXV. RSLIEF OF REVOLUTTONAKY OFFICERS. 

MARTIN VAN EUSiSN. 

Let us look, f©r a momeRt, at the arguments ^dvancel. 
by tke opponents ©f tke bill. Tke merkoTious services of 
the petitioners, tke signal advantages that have resulted 
from these services to us and t@ posterity ; the losses sus- 
5 tained by tke petitioners, and the coBse'(|ueiat advantages 
derived by the government from, the act of commutation, 
are unequivecaily admitted. 

But it is contended, we have made a compromise legally 
binding ©n the parties, and. exoneratiiag the government 

10 from farther liability ; that, in an evil and enguarded hour, 
they have given las a release, and we stand ^apon our 
^^bond." 

Now, tke question which I wish t© address to the con- 
science and the judgment of this honorable body, is this, 

W not whether this issise was well taken in point of law; 
not whether we might not hope for a saf« deliverance 
undei! it; but whether the issue ought to be taken at all; 
whether it comports with the honor of the government to 
plead a legal exemption against the claims of gratitude ; 

20 whether, in other words, the government be bound at all 
times to insist upon its strict legal rights. 

Has this been the practice of the government on all for- 
mer occasions ? Or, is this the only question on which 
this principle should operate ? Nothing can be easier 

25 tkan to skew, tkat tke uniform practice of the government 
has been at war witk tke principle which is now opposed 
to tke claim of tke petitioners. 

Not a session has occurred, since tke commen<!ement of 
this government, in wkick Congress has not relieved tke 

SO citizens from kardskips resulting from unforeseen contin- 
gencies, and forborne an enforcement of law, when its 
enforcement would work great and undeserved injury. I 
might, if excusable on an occasion like this, turn over the 
statute book, page by page, und give repeated proofs of 

35 this assertion. But it is unnecessary. 

It appears, then, that it has not been the practice of the 
government to act tke part of Skylock witk its citizens , 
and God forbid, tkat it skould make its debut"^ on the 
present occasion, not so m.uck in the character of a merci- 

40 less creditor, as a reluctant, though wealthy debtor; with- 
liolding the merited pittance from those to whose noble 

* Pronounced dabS. 



394 AMERICAN COMMOX-SCHQOI, [fART IT. 

daring and unrivalled fortitude, we are indebted for the 
privilege of sitting in judgment on their claims ; and 
manifesting more sensibility for the purchasers of our 
lands, than for those by whose bravery they were won ; and 
5 but for whose achievements, those very purchasers, instead 
of being the proprietors of their soil, and the citizens of 
free and sovereign states, might now be the miserable 
vassals of some worthless favorite of arbitrary power. 
If disposed to be less liberal to the Revolutionary offi- 

10 cers than to other classes of community, let us at least _ 
testify our gratitude by relieving their sufferings^ and Jk 
returning a pfortion of those immense gains which have ■ 
been the glorious fruits of their toil and of their blood. 
Such would, in my judgment, be a correct view of the 

15 subject, had the government relieved itself of all farther 
liability, by the most ample and unexceptionable perform- 
ance of its stipulations. How much stronger, then, will 
be their appeal to your justice, ifit can be shown, that you 
have no right to urge this act of commutation, as a com.- 

20 plete fulfilment of your promise ? 



LESSON CCXVI. RAPACITY AND BARBARITY" OF A BRITISH 

SOLDIERY. ^VM. UVINGSTON. 

After deploring with you the desolation spread through 
this state, by an unrelenting enemy, who have, indeed, 
marked their progress with a devastation unknown to civ- 
' ilized nations, and evincive of the mo«t implacable ven- 
5 geance, I heartily congratulate jou upon that subsequent 
series of success, wherewith it hath pleased the Almighty 
to crown the American arms; and particolarty, on the im- 
portant enterprise against the enemy at Trenton, and the 
signal victoiy obtained over them at Princeton, by the gal- 

10 lant troops under the command of his excellency, General 
Washington. 

Considering the contemptible figure they make at pres- 
ent, and the disgust they have given to many of their own 
confederates amongst us, by their more than Gothic rav- 

15 ages, (for thus doth the great Disposer of events often de- 
duce good out of evil,) their irruption into our dominion 
will probably redound to the public benefit. It has cer- 
tainly enabled us the more effectually to distinguish out 
friends from our enemies. It has ^^^nnowed the chaff 

20 from the grain. It has discriminated the temporizing poli- 
tician, who, at the first appeararxe of danger, was deter- 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 395 

mined ta secure his idol, property, at the hazard of the 
general weal, from the persevering patriot, who, having 
embarked his all in the common cause, chooses rather to 
risk, rather to lose that ail, for the preservation of the 
5 more estimable treasure, liberty, than to possess it, (enjoy 
it he certainly could not,) upon the ignominious terms of 
tamely resigning his country and posterity to perpetual 
servitude. It has, in a word, opened the eyes of those 
who were made to believe, that their impious merit, in 

10 abetting our persecutors, would exempt them from being 
involved in the general calamity. 

But, as the rapacity of the enemy was boundless, their 
havoc was indiscriminate, and their barbarity unparalleled. 
They have plundered friends and foes. Effects, capable 

15 of division, they have divided. Such as were not, they 
have destroyed. They have warred upon decrepit age ; 
warred upon defenceless youth. They have committed 
hostilities against the professors of literature, and the min- 
isters of religion ; against public records, and private mon- 

20 uments, and books of improvement, and papers of curiosity, 
and against the arts and sciences. They have butchered 
the wounded, asking for quarter; mangled the dying, wel- 
tering in their blood ; refused to the dead the rites of 
sepulture ; suffered prisoners to perish for want of suste- 

25 nance ; violated the chastity of women ; disfigured private 
dwellings of taste and elegance ; and, in the rage of im- 
piety and barbarism, profaned and prostrated edifices dedi- 
cated to Almighty God. 

And yet there are those amongst us, who, either from 

30 ambitious or lucrative motives, or intimidated by the terror 
of their arms, or from a partial fondness for the British con- 
stitution, or deluded by insidious propositions, are secretly 
abetting, or openly aiding their machinations to deprive us 
of that liberty, without which man is a beast, and govern- 

35 ment a curse. 



LESSON CCXVII. FREE NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 

GOUVERNEUR MORRIS. 

Sir, I wish for peace ; I wish the negotiation may suc- 
ceed ; and, therefore, I strongly urge you to adopt these res- 
olutions. But though you should adopt them, they alone 
will not ensure success, I havg no hesitation in saying, 



^5 AMERieArr eoM^(ms(mooij. [fakth, 

that T01I oughl to have taken possef?sion ef New Orleans 
and the Floridas-, the instant your treaty was violated. 
You oug^ht to do it now. Your rights are invaded : con- 
fidence in negotiation is vain : there is, th^refore^ no aher- 
& native but force. You are exposed to imminent present 
danger : you have the prospect of great future advantage : 
you are justified by the clearest principles of right : you 
are urged by the strongest motives of policy :. yo\i are 
commanded by every sentiment of natioi:jal dignity. Look 

IQ at the conduct of America in her infant years. When 
there was no actual invasion of righit, but only a claim to 
invade, she resisted the claim ; she spum-ed the insult. 
Did we then he-^itate? Did Ave the-n wait for foreign alli- 
ance ? No, — animated with the spirit, vmrmed with the soul 

15 of freedom, w^e threw our oaths ai^ allegiance in the face of 
our sovereign, and committed our fortunes, and our fate, to 
the God of battles. We then were subjects. We had not 
then attained to the dignity of an independent republic. 
We then had no rank among the nations of the earth. But 

20 we had the spirit which deserved that elevated station. And 

now that we have gained it, shall we fall from our honor? 

Sir, I repeat to you, that I wish for peace ; real, lasting, 

honorable peace. To obtain and secure this blessing, let 

us, by a bold and decisive conduct, convince the powers of 

25 Europe, that we are determined to defend our rights ; that 
we will not submit to insult ; that we will not bear degra- 
dation. This is the conduct which becomes a generous 
people. This conduct will command the respect of the 
world. Nay, sir, it may rouse all Europe to a proper 

30 sense of their situation. They see, that the balance of 
power, on Avhich their liberties depend, is, if not destroyed, 
in extreme danger. They know that the dominion of 
France has been extended by the sword, over millions, 
who groan in the servitude of their new mastei^. These 

35 unwilhng subjects are ripe for revolt. The empire of the 
Gauls is not, like that of Rome, secured by political insti- 
tutions. It may yet be broken. 

But whatever may be the conduct of others, let us act as 
becomes ourselves. I cannot beheve, with my honorable 

40 colleague, that three fourths of America are opposed to 
vigorous measures. I cannot believe, that they will mean- 
ly refuse to pay the sums needful to vindicate their honor, 
and support their independence. Sir, this is a libel on 
the people of America. They will disdain submission to 



FART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 397 

the proudest sovereign on earth. They have not lost the 
spirit of 76. But, sir, if they are so base, as to barter 
their rights for gold, — if they are so vile, that they will 
not defend their honor, — they are unworthy of the rank 
5 they enjoy, and it is no matter how soon they are parcelled 
out among better masters. 



LESSON CCXVIII. OUR DUTIES TO OUR COUNTRY. — DANIEL 

WEBSTER. 

This lovely land, this glorious liberty, these benign in- 
stitutions, the dear purchase of our fathers, are ours ; ours 
to enjoy, ours to preserve, ours to transmit. Generations 
past, and generations to come, hold us responsible for this 
5 sacred trust. Our fathers, from behind, admonish us, with 
their anxious paternal voices ; posterity calls out to us, 
from the bosom of the future ; the world turns hither its 
solicitous eyes, — all, all conjure us to act wisely, and 
faithfully, in the relation which we sustain. We can 

10 never, indeed, pay the debt which is upon us ; but by vir- 
tue, by morality, by religion, by the cultivation of every 
good principle and every good habit, we may hope to en- 
joy the blessing, through our day, and to leave it unim- 
paired to our children. Let us feel deeply how much, of 

15 what we are and what we possess, we owe to this liberty, 
and these institutions of government. 

Nature has, indeed, given us a soil which yields boun- 
teously to the hands of industrj^ the mighty and fruitful 
ocean is before us, and the skies over our heads shed 

20 health and vigor. But what are lands, and seas, and 
skies, to civilized man, without society, without knowledge, 
without morals, without religious culture ? and how can 
these be enjoyed, in all their extent, and all their excel- 
lence, but under the protection of wise institutions and a 

25 free government ? 

Fellow-citizens, there is not one of us, there is not one 
of us here present, who does not, at this moment, and at 
every moment, experience in his own condition, and in the 
condition of those most near and dear to him, the influence 

30 and the benefits of this liberty, and these institutions. Let 

us then acknowledge the blessing ; let us feel it deeply 

and powerfully; let us cherish a strong affection for it, 

and resolve to maintain and perpetuate it. The blood of 

34 



398 AMEKICAIf eOMM0N-SCIK)0L [PART IL 

our fathers, let it not have been shed in vain ; the great 
hope of posterity, let it not be blasted. 

The striking attitude, too, in which we stand to the 
world around us, — a topic to which, I fear, I advert too 
5 often, and dwell on too long, — cannot be altogether omitted 
here. Neither individuals nor nations can perform their 
part well, until they understand and feel its importance, 
and comprehend and justly appreciate all the duties be- 
longing to it. It is not to inflate national vanity^ nor to 

10 swell a light and empty feeling of self-importance ; but it 
is that we may judge justly of our situation, and of our 
own duties, that I earnestly urge this consideration of our 
position, and our character among the nations of the 
earth. 

15 It cannot be denied, but by those who would dispute 
against the sun, that with America, and in America, a new 
era commences in human affairs. This era is distin- 
guished by free representative g'ovemments, by entire reli- 
gious liberty, by improved systems of national intercourse, 

20 by a newly awakened and an unconquerable spirit of free 
inquiry, and by a diffusion of knowledge through the com- 
munity, such as has been before altogether unknown and 
unheard of. America, America, our countiy, our own 
dear and native land, is inseparably connected, fast bound 

25 up, in fortune and by fate, with these great interests. If 
they fall, we fall with them; if they stand, it will be be- 
cause we have upheld them. 

Let us contemplate, then, this connection which binds 
the prosperity of others to our own ; and let us manfully 

30 discharge all the duties which it imposes. If we cherish 
the virtues and the principles of our fathers, Heaven will 
assist us to carry on the work of human liberty and human 
happiness. Auspicious omens cheer us. Great examples 
are before us. Our own firmament now shines brightly 

35 upon our path. Washington is in the clear upper sky. 
Those other stars have now joined the American constella- 
tion ; they circle round their centre, and the heavens beam 
with new light. Beneath this illumination, let us walk 
the course of life, and at its close devoutly commend our 

40 beloved country, the common parent of us all, to the Di- 
vine Benignity. 



PAnT il.] SEADEH AND SPEAKER. 

LESSON CCXIX, ENGLAND AND THE UNITED STATES. ^E. 

EVERETT. 

{From a Speech Ijefore tfee British Scientific Association.] 

There seems to be something peculiar in the relation 
between England and the United States, well calculated 
to form a basis, as I trust it does and ever will, of 
kind feelings between both. The relation of colony and 
5 mother country, which formerly subsisted between Eng- 
land and the United States, is, of course, not new in the 
world. From the beginning of history, Egypt, Greece, 
and Kome, sent out their colonies to relieve a superabun- 
dant population, or in the spirit of commercial enterprise, 

10 or to consolidate their distant conquests ; but there can, in 
the nature of things, be no other example of such a rela- 
tion as exists between us. 

Only consider the separate companies of adventurers, 
some of them actuated by the highest and noblest feelings 

15 that can influence the heart and govern the conduct 
of men, traversing a mighty ocean which bears them 
all at once from the mature arts of civilization to the 
wildest nature,— from the mother country into a savage 
v/ilderness, unknown, till then, to the rest of man- 

20 kind. Here they laid the deep and broad foundations of 
free states, destined, under a multitude of causes, which it 
is impossible for me here even to glance at, in the maturi- 
ty of time to grow up into a great family of communities, 
independent, at least politically, of the mother country; 

25 but still, in their common language and kindred blood, 
forming, with that mothfer country, one commercial, social, 
and intellectual community, destined, I believe, as such, to 
fulfil the highest ends in the order of Providence. 

Suppose, that a similarity were traced by one of your 

30 members, between the geological formations of our two 
countries. Suppose, that, landing on the coast of America, 
he should find there the most peculiar strata and the most 
characteristic fossils of Great Britain, proving, beyond 
doubt, that, in the primeval ages, our two countries were 

35 part and parcel of the same continent ; would not this dis- 
covery be hailed with pleasure, and this splendid general- 
ization be welcomed, by every man of science, into the 
circle of his favorite theories ? 

Then I ask you, gentlemen, is it a less interesting fact, 

40 that, in crossing this mighty ocean to America, you find 
there the traces, not of similar strata of coal and gypsum, 



4m 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[fast n. 



not like formations of sandstone and granite and gray- 
T/acke, but the traces of kindred families of rational be- 
ings ? Is it not a delightful fact, that the foot-prints that 
you first meet there, are not merely those of the fossil ani- 
5 mals, whose paradoxical existence was terminated in ages 
into which history strives in vain to penetrate, even to the 
vestibule, but the footsteps of men, of kindred men, of 
men descended from your blood and your revered ances- 
try, and called, with you, hand in hand, to walk together 

10 over the great stage of accountable existence, and to en- 
gage, with you, in the investigation of all those high and 
grand problems that are tasking the m2i:ids of civilized men, 
in this age of the world ? 

It seems to me, that, if it be the great object of all 

15 science, — as Sir John Herschell has said, — to expand 
and elevate the mind ; that, among the topics consi- 
dered this day, there is not one m.ore calculated to expand 
and elevate the rational mind, than such a connection 
between tvv'o great countries. Why, it is only since 

20 the reign of James the Second, and Charles the First, 
which is but as yesterday, in the long line of British his- 
tory, that a few adventurers rather stole across the ocean, 
than navigated it. Two hundred years have passed away ; 
and out of that little insignificant germ of national exist- 

25 ence, millions and millions have grown up, and formed a 
great and mighty nation, in close connection with your 
own. And, in whatever light we regard each other, com- 
mercial, political, literary, social, or moral, we are destined 
to exercise an all-powerful influence upon each other, — I 

30 believe I may say, without exaggeration, to the end of time. 
In the world of science, I would rather say, there has 
never been a separation between us. There are no boun- 
dary questio7is in that pacific realm. The first patron that 
ever Sir Humphrey Da^'y had, (if it be not a shame to 

35 pronounce the word patron, in connection with such a 
name,) the first individual who had the honor of helping 
him into notice was an American citizen ; for under the 
somewhat lofty disguise of " Count Eumford," lies con- 
cealed plain " Benjamin Thompson," the son of a New 

40 England farmer. Dr. Franklin was first led to turn his 
attention to electricity by experiments exhibited by an 
itinerant British lecturer, in the large towns of the then 
British colonies ; and he pursued his inquiries in this 
branch of science with a few articles of apparatus sent out 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 401 

to him by a friend in London. The result was his brilliant 
discovery of the identity of lightning with the electric fluid. 
In modern times, the merit of our modest and self-taught 
mathematician, Bowditch, the American translator and 
5 commentator of La Place, had nowhere been better known 
and appreciated than here ; and, in reference to science, 
in general, I wish it to be constantly borne in mind by 
every votary of its pursuit in this country, that fourteen 
days are enough to elapse after the publication to the sci- 

10 entitle world here, of his speculations or discoveries, before 
they are liberally received, considered and appreciated, ac- 
cording to their merit, by the only other people on the face 
of the globe, speaking the same language, and belonging 
to the same school of civilization. 

15 It is unnecessary to speak before this companj^ — to 
which the name of Fulton is as familiar as those of Bolton 
or Watt, — of the part alternately performed by the sci- 
ence of England and America, in bringing about the use 
of steam as a locomotive power, by land and by water, — 

20 the great philosophical and mechanical improvement of the 
day. 

In literature, (though I know it is not proper before this 
company to wander far beyond the pale of science,) yet I 
know you Avill pardon me for saying that it is our boast 

25 and joy, that Shakspeare and Milton were the countrymen 
of our fathers. We worship at the same altars ; we rev- 
erence the same canonized names as you. The great 
modern names of your literary Pantheon, the Addisons, 
Johnsons, and Goldsmiths of the last century, the Scotts 

30 and Byrons of this, are not more familiar to you than to 
us. And may I not say, that the names that adorn the 
nascent literature of my own country, — our Irvings, our 
Prescotts, our Coopers, our Pierponts, our Bryants, our 
Bancrofts, and our Channings, — may I not say, that they 

35 are scarcely better known to us than to you ? 

I know it is thought that a great difference exists be-- 
tween our political institutions, — and certainly it is in 
some respects considerable, — and those institutions, of 
course, have a great influence on the character of a nation. 

40 But all republicans as we are, (and I have seen something 
of the continent of Europe as well as Great Britain,) all 
republican as we are, taking our systems through and 
through, I think the candid observer will admit that there 
is a much greater similarity between you and us, even 
34=^ 



402 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [fART II* 

politically speaking, than betvveen England and any of her 
sister monarchies. I believe we may boast, that we are 
children of the British school of freedom. Though we are 
ardently, passionately attached to liberty, it is liberty en- 
5 shrined in constitutions, and organized by laws. On your 
part, if I am not too presumptuous, as a stranger, in form- 
ing an opinion, I think I may say that it is your boast, that 
the pillars of the state are laid deep in those representative 
institutions, by which the power, the will, and the affec- 

10 tions of the people, are brought to the support of the throne. 
And do we not, — English or American, — do we not derive 
our only hope of a name and praise in the woxld, politi- 
cally speaking, from our attachment to those old British 
muniments of liberty, trial by jury, the habeas corpus, free- 

15 dom of speech, and liberty of the press ?— do we not derive 
it from that ardent love of self-government, tempered by a 
proud submission to lawful sway which flowed in the veins 
of Englishmen for centuries before America began to be ? 
and will, I trust, flow in the veins of Englishmen, and 

20 their descendants in America, to the end of time. 



LESSON CCXX. MASSACHUSETTS AND NEW YOKK. 

GOV. SEWARD. 

[From an address at the meeting of the Legislatures of the two 
States, to celebrate the completion of the Western Railroad.] 

We cannot forget, that it was Massachusetts that en- 
countered first, and suffered most, from the tyranny which 
resulted in our national independence ; that the first blood 
shed in that sacred cause, flowed at Lexington ; and that 
5 Liberty's earliest rampart was established upon Bunker's 
Hill. Nevertheless, the struggles and sacrifices of Massa- 
chusetts, have, until now, been known to us through tra- 
ditions not her own ; and seem to be those of a distant, 
though an allied people, — of a country separated from us 

10 by mountain barriers, such as divide every continent into 
states and empires. 

But what a change is here ! This morning's sun was 
just greeting the site of old Fort Orange, as we took our 
leave ; and now, when he has scarcely reached the meri- 

15 dian, we have crossed that hitherto impassable barrier, 
and met you here, on the shore of the Connecticut, the 
battle ground of King Philip's cruel wars ; and, before that 
sun shall set, we might ascend the heights of Charlestown, 



:ililL 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 403 

or rest upon the rock that was wet with blood flowing from 
the weary feet of the pilgrim fathers. 

New York has been addressed here in language of mag- 
nanimity. It would not become me to speak of her position, 
5 her resources, or her influence. And yet I may, without 
offending against the delicacy of her representatives here, 
and of her people at home, claim that she is not altogether 
unworthy of admiration. Our mountains, cataracts, and 
lakes, cannot be surveyed without lifting the soul on high. 

10 Our metropolis and our inland cities, our canals and rail- 
roads, our colleges and schools, and our twelve thousand 
libraries, evince emulation and a desire to promote the 
welfare of our country, the progress of civilization, and 
the happiness of mankind. 

15 While we acknowledge that it was your Warren who 
offered up his life at Charlestown, your Adams and your 
Hancock, who were the proscribed leaders in the revolu- 
tion, and your Franklin, whose wisdom swayed its coun- 
sels ; we cannot forget that Ticonderoga and Saratoga are 

20 within our borders ; that it was a son of New York who 
first fell in scaling the heights of Abraham ; that another 
of her sons shaped every pillar of the constitution, and 
twined the evergreen around its capital ; that our Fulton 
sent forth the mighty agent that is revolutionizing the 

25 world ; and that, but for our Clinton, his lofty genius and 
undaunted perseverance, the events of this day, and all its 
joyous anticipations, had slept together in the womb of 
futurity. 

The grandeur of this occasion oppresses me. It is not, 

30 as some have supposed, the first time that states have met. 
On many occasions, in all ages, states, nations, and em- 
pires, have come together ; but the trumpet heralded their 
approach; they met in the shock of war; one or the 
other sunk to rise no more ; and desolation marked, for 

35 the warning of mankind, the scene of the fearful encoun- 
ter. And if sometimes chivalry asked an armistice, it 
was but to light up with evanescent smiles the stern visage 
of war. 

How different is this scene ! Here are no contending 

40 hosts, no destructive engines, nor the terrors, nor even the 
pomp of war. Not a helmet, sword, or plume, is seen in 
all this vast assemblage. Nor is this a hollow truce 
between contending states. We are not met upon a cloth 
of gold, and under a silken canopy, to practise deceitful 




404 AMERICAN COIVIMON-SCHOOL [PART 11. 

courtesies, nor in an amphitheatre, with jousts and tourna- 
ments, to make trial of our skill in arms, preparatory to a 
fatal conflict. We have come here, enlightened and fra- 
ternal states, without pageantry, or even insignia of 
5 power, to renew pledges of fidelity, and to cultivate affec- 
tion and all the arts of peace. Well may our sister states 
look upon the scene with favor, and the nations of the 
earth draw from it good auguries of universal and perpet- 
ual peace. 

LESSON CCXXI. THE BIBLE. GRIMKE. 

The Bible is the only book, which God has ever sent, 
the only one he ever will send, into this world. All other 
books are frail and transient as time, since they are only 
the registers of time ; but the Bible is durable as eternity, 
5 for its pages contain the records of eternity. All other 
books are weak and imperfect, like their author, man ; but 
the Bible is a transcript of infinite power and perfection. 
Every other volume is limited in its usefulness and influ- 
ence ; but the Bible came forth conquering and to con- 

10 quer : rejoicing as a giant to run his course, and like the 
sun, " there is nothing hid from the heat thereof." The 
Bible only, of all the myriads of books the world has seen, 
is equally important and interesting to all mankind. Its 
tidings, whether of peace or of woe, are the same to the 

15 poor, the ignorant, and the weak, as to the rich, the wise, 
and the powerful. 

Among the most remarkable of its attributes, is justice ; 
for it looks with impartial eyes on kings and on slaves, on 
the hero and the soldier, on philosophers and peasants, on 

20 the eloquent and the dumb. From all, it exacts the same 
obedience to its commandments, and promises to the good, 
the fruits of his labors ; to the evil, the reward of his 
hands. Nor are the purity and holiness, the wisdom, 
benevolence and truth of the Scriptures, less conspicuous, 

25 than their justice. In sublimity and beauty, in the de- 
scriptive and pathetic, in dignity and simplicity of narra- 
tive, in power and comprehensiveness, depth and variety 
of thought, in purity and elevation of sentiment, the most 
enthusiastic admirers of the heathen classics have con- 

30 ceded their inferiority to the Scriptures. 

The Bible, indeed, is the only universal classic, the 
classic of all mankind, of every age and country, of time 



PART II.] EEADER AND SPEAKER. 405 

and eternity, raore humble and simple than the primer of 
a child, more grand and magnificent than the epic and the 
oration, the ode and the drama, when genius with his 
chariot of fire, and his horses of fire, ascends in whirlwind 
5 into the heaven of his own invention. It is the best clas- 
sic the world has ever seen, the noblest that has ever 
honored and dignified the language of mortals ! 

If you boast that the Aristotles, and the Platos, and the 
TuUies, of the classic age, "dipped their pens in intellect," 

10 the sacred authors dipped theirs in inspiration. If those 
were the "secretaries of nature," these were the secre- 
taries of the very Author of nature. If Greece and Rome 
have gathered into their cabinet of curiosities, the pearls 
of heathen poetry and eloquence, the diamonds of Pagan 

15 history and Philosophy, God himself has treasured up in 
the Scriptures, the poetry and eloquence, the philosophy 
and history of sacred lawgivers, of prophets and apostles, 
of saints, evangelists, and martyrs. In vain may you seek 
for the pure and simple light of universal truth in the 

20 Augustan ages of antiquity. In the Bible only is the 
poet's wish fulfilled, — 

" And like the sun be all one boundless eye," 



LESSON CCXXII. FATE OF MONTEZUMA. WM. H. PRESCOTT. 

. When Montezuma ascended the throne, he was scarcely 
twenty-three years of age. Young, and ambitious of 
extending his empire, he was continually engaged in war, 
and is said to have been present himself in nine pitched 
5 battles. He was greatly renowned for his martial prow- 
ess, for he belonged to the highest military order"^ of his 
nation, and one into which but few even of its sovereigns 
had been admitted. 

In later life, he preferred intrigue to violence, as more 

10 consonant to his character and priestly education. In this 
he was as great an adept as any prince of his time, and 
by arts not very honorable to himself, succeeded in filching 
away much of the territory of his royal kinsman of 
Tezcuco. Severe in the administration of justice, he made 

15 important reforms in the arrangement of the tribunals. 
He introduced other innovations in the royal household, 

* Quachictin. 



406 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 



creating new offices, introducing a lavish magnificence, 
and forms of courtly etiquette, unknown to his ruder pred- 
ecessors. He was, in short, most attentive to all that 
concerned the exterior and pomp of royalty. Stately and 
5 decorous, he was careful of his own dignity, and might be 
said to be as great an "actor of majesty" among the bar- 
barian potentates of the New World, as Louis the Four- 
teenth was among the polished princes of Europe. 

He was deeply tinctured, moreover, with that spirit of 

10 bigotry, which threw such a shade over the latter days of 
the French monarch. He received the Spaniards as the 
beings predicted by his oracles. The anxious dread, with 
which he had evaded their proffered visit, was founded on 
the same feelings which led him so blindly to resign him- 

15 self to them on their approach. He felt himself rebuked 
by their superior genius. He, at once, conceded all that 
they demanded, — his treasures, his power, even his per- 
son. For their sake, he forsook his wonted occupations, 
his pleasures, his most familiar habits. He might be said 

20 to forego his nature ; and, as his subjects asserted, to 
change his sex and become a woman. If we cannot 
refuse our contempt for the pusillanimity of the Aztec 
monarch, it should be mitigated by the consideration, that 
his pusillanimity sprung from his superstition, and that 

25 superstition in the savage is the substitute for religious 
principle in the civilized man. 

It is not easy to contemplate the fate of Montezuma 
without feelings of the strongest compassion ; — to see him 
thus borne along the tide of events beyond his power to 

30 avert or control ; to see him, like some stately tree, the 
pride of his own Indian forests, towering aloft in the pomp 
and majesty of its branches, by its very eminence, a mark 
for the thunderbolt, the first victim of the tempest which 
was to sweep over its native hills ! When the wise king 

35 of Tezcuco addressed his royal relative at his coronation, 
he exclaimed, "Happy the empire, which is now in the 
meridian of its prosperity, for the sceptre is given to one 
whom the Almighty has in his keeping ; and the nations 
shall hold him in reverence ! " 

40 Alas ! the subject of this auspicious invocation lived to 
see his empire melt away like the winter's wreath ; to see 
a strange race drop, as it were, from the clouds on his 
land ; to find himself a prisoner in the palace of his 
fathers, the companion of those who were the enemies of 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 407 

his gods and his people ; to be insulted, reviled, trodden 
in the dust, by the meanest of his subjects, by those who, 
a few months previous, had trembled at his glance ; draw- 
ing his last breath in the halls of the stranger ; — a lonely 
5 outcast in the heart of his own capital ! He was the sad 
victim of destiny, — a destiny, as dark and irresistible in its 
march, as that which broods over the mythic legends of 
antiquity ! 

LESSON CCXXIII. SCENERY ABOUT HASSEN CLEAVER HILLS. 

JOHN A. CLARK. 

It is one of the most beautiful days of summer. The 
sun is proudly marching through the heavens, in full-orbed 
splendor. The tide of brightness, and the flood of fervid, 
glowing beams which he pours over the earth, makes an 
5 impression upon all animated nature, which one scarcely 
knows how to describe, though he feels it in every limb 
and muscle, and sees it in every form of organized being, 
from the smallest spire of grass, to the tallest tree of the 
forest, — from the buzzing insect that sings at his ear, to 

10 the vast herd that seek the shady shelter of the grove, or 
stand panting midway in the brook. I, too, feel this power, 
in the genial glow imparted to my system. The cool 
shelter of this beautiful tree under which I sit, and the 
sweet and varied landscape before me, make me almost 

15 feel that I am encompassed with the Elysian fields. 

The village is a mile distant, and some two hundred 
feet below this spot. The elevated knoll on w^hich I sit, 
slopes down by a gentle declivity to the road, where the 
traveller passes on to the village. Beyond, on the opposite 

20 side of the road, the land again swells into a broad hill, 
which the hand of cultivation has so neatly dressed, that 
not a stump or stone is visible. One extended carpet of 
green meets the eye, presenting a surface smooth and 
beautiful, as the newly shorn lawn. 

25 Beyond this hill, the earth again slopes off, and falls 
into a valley, through which runs a little stream, minister- 
ing fertility to the soil, and refreshment to the cattle that 
graze the fields on either side of it. Still more remote, 
the land, by beautiful undulations, again rises, and is again 

80 depressed, till at length it sweeps off, by a more precipi- 
tous descent, to the bed of the West Canada creek, which, 
some fifteen miles above, is poured in wild beauty over 
Trenton Falls. 



408 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



On the opposite side of the creek, the land again rises 
with precipitous elevation, lifting itself upward in bold and 
still bolder forms, till, in the distance, it meets the eye in 
the broad outline of the Hassen Cleaver Hills, that, like 
5 some grand mountain ridge, tower upward till they seem to 
prop the very heavens. This range sweeps along to the 
south and east, till it seems in the distance blended with 
another range, still more remote, that rises beyond the 
Mohawk, which together form a semicircle in a broad and 

10 bold amphitheatre of hills. Over this range of hills, up to 
their highest peaks, as well as through the whole extent 
of the intervening country, are seen cultivated fields, inter- 
spersed with woodlands, — and sprinkled all along, as far 
as the eye can extend to the north and the south, corn- 

15 fields, and orchards, and barns, and farm-houses, and 
herds of cattle. 

The sun is pouring his golden splendor over this rich 
landscape. Now and then a passing cloud quenches the 
bright lustre of his beams ; and light and shade alternately 

20 rest upon the smooth, green surface of the hills. Just in 
my rear, far to the left, starts up, like another Tower of 
Babel, a smooth, verdant knoll, that, by its vast elevation 
and singular formation, seems to constitute in the pathway 
of heaven, to the eye that traces its outline, the quadrant of 

25 an ellipse, at one of whose bases stands a beautiful cluster of 
young butternuts, gracefully grouped together, and extend- 
ing at least over an acre of ground, — at which point it is 
said, that, in a remarkably clear sky, the waters of the 
broad and distant Ontario may be seen. 

30 Over this landscape universal quiet reigns. No sounds 
come upon the ear, save now and then the cheerful chirp 
of a bird, — the hum of the passing bee, — the lowing of a 
cow, or the sighing of the summer breeze, that gently 
creeps through the rich foliage which spreads its grateful 

35 covering over my head. 

God created these forms of beauty around me, and gave 
to this scene all its loveliness ! If what His hand has 
formed be so lovely, how lovely must He be, from whom 
has emanated all these traces of varied and exquisite 

40 beauty ! I have a book which courts my attention ; it is 
from the pen of John Bunyan, entitled, '•''Come and Welcome 
to Jesus Christ.'"' In the face of Jesus Christ, where is dis- 
played "the k^nowledge of the glory of God," I see stronger 
lines of beauty, than in all this witching scenery that 

45 stretches around me. 



^ART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 409 

LESSON CCXXIV. THE TREASURE THAT WAXETH NOT OLD.— 

D. HUNTINGTON. 

Oh ! I have loved, in youth's fair vernal morn, 

To spread imagination's wildest wing, 
The sober certainties of life to scorn, 

And seek the visioned realms that poets sing, — 
5 Where Nature blushes in perennial spring. 

Where streams of earthly joy exhaustless rise. 
Where Youth and Beauty tread the choral ring, 
And shout their raptures to the cloudless skies, 
While every jovial hour on downy pinion flies. 

10 But, ah ! those fairy scenes at once are fled. 

Since stern experience waved her iron wand, 
Broke the soft slumbers of my visioned head. 
And bade me here of perfect bliss despond. 
And oft have I the painful lesson conned ; 
15 When Disappointment mocked my wooing heart. 

Still of its own delusion weakly fond, 

And from forbidden pleasures loth to part, 
Though shrinking oft beneath Correction's deepest smart. 

And is there naught in mortal life, I cried, 
20 Can sooth the sorrows of the laboring breast ? 

No kind recess where baffled hope may hide, 

And weary Nature lull her woes to rest ? 
Oh ! grant me, pitying Heaven, this last request, — 
Since I must every loftier wish resign, 
25 Be my few days with peace and friendship blessed ; 
Nor will I at my humble lot repine. 
Though neither wealth, nor fame, nor luxury be mine. 

Oh ! give me yet, in some recluse abode. 
Encircled with a faithful few, to dwell, 
30 Where power can not oppress, nor care corrode. 
Nor venomed tongues the tale of slander tell; 
Oh ! bear me to some solitary cell, 

Beyond the reach of every human eye ; 
And let me bid a long and last farewell 
35 To each alluring object 'neath the sky, 

And there in pea^^e await my hour, — in peace to die. 

" Ah vain desire ! " a still small voice replied, — 

" No place, no circumstance can Peace impart : 
She scorns the mansion of unvanquished Pride, — 
40 Sweet inmate of a pure and humble heart. 

35 



410 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II. 

Take then thy station, — act thy proper part ; — 
A Saviour's mercy seek, — his will perform : 

His word has balm for sin's envenomed smart, 

His love, diffused, thy shuddering breast shall warm ; 
5 His power provide a shelter from the gathering storm." 

Oh ! welcome hiding place ! Oh ! refuge meet 

For fainting pilgrims, on this desert way ! 
Oh ! kind Conductor of these wandering feet 

Through snares and darkness, to the realms of day ! 
10 So did the Sun of Righteousness display 

His healing beams ; each gloomy cloud dispel : 
While on the parting mist, in colors gay, 

Truth's cheering bow of precious promise fell. 
And Mercy's silver voice soft whispered, — " All is well." 



LESSON CCXXV. THE YOUNG MARINER's DREAM. DimOTld. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay. 

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; 

But, watchworn and weary, his cares flew away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

5 He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers. 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; 
While memory each scene gayly covered with flowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
10 And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; — 
Now far, far behind him, the green waters glide. 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 

The jassamine clambers, in flower, o'er the thatch ; 

And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall : 
15 All trembling with transport, he raises the latch ; 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight ; 

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; 
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite, 
20 With those of the sister his bosom holds dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 
Joy quickens his pulses, — his hardships seem o'er; 

And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest, — 
" God ! thou hast blest me ; I ask for no more." 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 411 

Ah ! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye ? 

Ah ! what is that sound which now larums his ear ? 
'T is the lightning-'s red glare, painting wrath on the sky ! 

'T is the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere ! 

5 He springs from his hammock, — he flies to the deck, — 
Amazement confronts him with images dire, — 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck, — 
The masts fly in splinters, — the shrouds are on fire ! 

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell : 
10 In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ; 
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell. 

And the death angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave. 

sailor boy ! woe to thy dream of delight ! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; 
15 Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright, 
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss ? 

O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay ; 
Unblessed, and unhonored, down deep in the main, 
20 Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge ; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be. 
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge ! 

25 On a bed of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid ; 
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; 
Of thy fair, yellow locks, threads of amber be made, 
And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, 
30 And still the vast waters above thee shall roll : 
Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye ; — 
sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul ! 



LESSON CCXXVI. GUSTAVUS VASA AND CRISTIERN. BrOoJce. 

Crist. Tell me, Gustavus, tell me why is this, 
That, as a stream diverted from the banks 
Of smooth obedience, thou hast drawn these men 
Upon a dry unchanneled enterprise 
5 To turn their inundation ? Are the lives 
Of my misguided people held so light. 
That thus thou 'dst push them on the keen rebuke 



41^ 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part u. 



Of guarded majesty ; where justice waits 

All awful and resistless, to assert 

Th' impervious rights, the sanctitude of kings ; 

And blast rebellion ? 
5 Gust. Justice, sanctitude, 

And rights ! patience ! Rights ! what rights, thou tyrant ? 

Yes, if perdition be the rule of power, 

If wrongs give right, Oh ! then, supreme in mischief, 

Thou wert the lord, the monarch of the world, — 
10 Too narrow for thy claim. But if thou think'st 

That crowns are vilely propertied, like coin, 

To be the means, the specialty of lust, 

And sensual attribution ; if thou think'st 

That empire is of titled birth or blood ; 
15 That nature, in the proud behalf of one, 

Shall disenfranchise all her lordly race, 

And bow her general issue to the yoke 

Of private domination; then, thou proud one, 

Here know me for thy king ! Howe'er be told, 
20 Not claim hereditary, not the trust 

Of frank election, 

Not e'en the high anointing hand of Heaven, 

Can authorize oppression, give a law 

For lawless power, wed faith to violation, 
25 On reason build misrule, or justly bind 

Allegiance to injustice. Tyranny 

Absolves all faith ; and who invades our rights, 

Howe'er his own commence, can never be 

But an usurper. But for thee, for thee 
30 There is no name ! Thou hast abjured mankind. 

Dashed safety from thy bleak, unsocial side, 

And waged wild war with universal nature. 

Crist. Licentious traitor ! thou canst talk it largely. 

Who made thee umpire of the rights of kings, 
35 And power, prime attribute ; as on thy tongue 

The poise of battle lay, and arms offeree 

To throw defiance in the front of duty ? 

Look round, unruly boy ! thy battle comes, 

Like raw, disjointed, mustering feeble wrath, 
40 A war of waters, borne against a rock 

Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe, 

And shiver in the toil. 
Gtist. Mistaken man ! 

I come empowered and strengthened in thy weakness : 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 413 

For though the structure of a tyrant's throne 
Rise on the necks of half the suffering world, 
Fear trembles in the cement ; prayers, and tears, 
And secret curses, sap its mouldering base, 
5 And steal the pillars of allegiance from it ; 
Then let a single arm but dare the sway. 
Headlong it turns, and drives upon destruction. 

Crist. Profane, and alien to the love of Heaven ! 
Art thou still hardened to the wrath divine, 

10 That hangs o'er thy rebellion ? Know'st thou not 
Thou art at enmity with grace, cast out, 
Made an anathema, a curse enrolled 
Among the faithful, thou and thy adherents, 
Shorn from our holy church, and offered up 

15 As sacred to perdition ? 
Gicst. Yes, I know, 
When such as thou, with sacrilegious hand, 
Seize on the apostolic key of heaven. 
It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves 

20 To shut out virtue, and unfold those gates 

That Heaven itself had barred against the lusts 
Of avarice and ambition. Soft and sweet, 
As looks of charity or voice of lambs 
That bleat upon the mountain, are the words 

25 Of Christian meekness ! mission all divine ! 
The laAV of love, sole mandate. But your gall, 
Ye Swedish prelacy, your gall hath turned 
The words of sweet but undigested peace. 
To wrath and bitterness. Ye hallowed men, 

30 In whom vice sanctifies, whose precepts teach 
Zeal without truth, religion without virtue ; 
Sacked towns, and midnight bowlings, through the realm, 
Receive your sanction ! Oh ! 't is glorious mischief ! 
When vice turns holy, puts religion on, 

35 Assumes the robe pontifical, the eye 
Of saintly elevation, blesseth sin. 
And makes the seal of sweet ofTended Heaven 
A sign of blood. 

Crist. No more of this ! 

40 Gustavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace, 
And hold thy motions in the sphere of duty, 
Acceptance might be found. 

Gust. Imperial spoiler ! 
Give me my father, give me back my kindred, 
35^ 



414 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART 11. 

Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans, 
Give me the sons in whom thy ruthless sword 
Has left our widows childless. Mine they were, 
Both mine and every Swede's, whose patriot breast 
5 Bleeds in his country's woundings. Oh ! thou canst not ! 
Thou hast outsinned all reckoning ! Give me, then, 
My all that 's left, my gentle mother there, 
And spare yon little trembler. 

Crist. Yes, on terms 
10 Of compact and submission. 

Gust. Ha ! with thee ! 
Compact with thee ! and mean'st thou for my country, 
For Sweden ? No, — so bold my heart but firm, 
Although it wring for 't, though blood drop for tears, 
15 And at the sight my straining eyes dart forth, — 
They both shall perish first ! 



LESSON CCXXVII. TAMERLANE AND BAJAZKI. Rowe. 

[Bajazet and other Turkish prisoners in chains, under 
guard.'] 

Tarn. When I survey the ruins of this field, 
The wild destruction, which thy fierce ambition 
Has dealt among mankind ; (so many widows 
And helpless orphans has thy battle made, 
5 That half our Eastern world this day are mourners;) 
Well may I, in behalf of heaven and earth, 
Demand from thee atonement for this wrong. 

Baj. Make thy demand of those that own thy power ! 
Know, I am still beyond it ; and though fortune 

10 Has stript me of the train and pomp of greatness, 
That outside of a king ; yet still my soul, 
Fixed high, and of itself alone dependent, 
Is ever free and royal ; and even now. 
As at the head of battle, does defy thee. 

15 I know what power the chance of war has given. 
And dare thee to the use oft. This vile speeching, 
This after-game of words, is what most irks me : 
Spare that, and for the rest 'tis equal all. 
Be it as it may. 

20 Tarn. Well was it for the world, 

When, on their borders neighboring princes met, 
Frequent in friendly parle, by cool debates 
Preventing wasteful war : such should our meeting 
Have been, hadst thou but held in just regard 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 4il$ 

The sanctity of leagues so often sworn to. 

Canst thou believe thy prophet, or, what 's more, 

That Power Supreme, which made thee and thy prophet, 

Will, with impunity let pass that breach 
5 Of sacred faith given to the royal Greek ? 

Baj. Thou pedant talker ! ha ! art thou a king 

Possessed of sacred power, Heaven's darling attribute, 

And dost thou prate of leagues, and oaths, and prophets ? 

I hate the Greek, (perdition on his name !) 
10 As I do thee, and would have met you both, 

As death does human nature, for destruction. 
Tarn. Causeless to hate, is not of human kind : 

The savage brute that haunts in woods remote 

And desert wilds, tears not the fearful traveller, 
15 If hunger, or some injury provoke not, 

Baj. Can a king want a cause, when empire bids 

Go on ? What is he born for, but ambition ? 

It is his hunger,— 't is his call of nature, 

The noble appetite which will be satisfied, 
20 And, like the food of gods, makes him immortal. 

Ta7n. Henceforth, I will not wonder we were foes. 

Since souls that differ so by nature, hate, 

And strong antipathy forbid their union. 

Baj. The noble fire, that warms me, does indeed 
25 Transcend thy coldness. I am pleased we differ, 

Nor think alike. 

Tarn. No : for I think like a man, 

Thou like a monster ; from whose baleful presence 

Nature starts back ; and though she fixed her stamp 
30 On thy rough mass, and marked thee for a man. 

Now, conscious of her error, she disclaims thee, 

As formed for her destruction. 

'T is true, I am a king, as thou hast been ; 

Honor and glory too have been my aim ; 
35 But though I dare face death, and all the dangers 

Which furious war wears in its bloody front, 

Yet would I choose to fix my name by peace. 

By justice, and by mercy ; and to raise 

My trophies on the blessings of mankind : 
40 Nor would I buy the empire of the world 

With ruin of the people whom I sway, 

On forfeit of my honor. 

Baj. Confusion ! wouldst thou rob me of my glory ? 

Whilst I, (Oh ! blast the power that stops my ardor,) 



416 



AMERICAN COIVIMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 



Would, like a tempest, rush amidst the nations, 
Be greatly terrible, and deal, like Allah, 
My angry thunder on the frightened world. 

Tarn. The world ! 't would be too little for thy pride : 
5 Thou wouldst scale heaven. 

Baj. I would. Away ! my soul 
Disdains thy conference. 

Tam. Thou vain, rash thing, 
That, with gigantic insolence, hast dared 
10 To lift thy wretched self above the stars, 

And mate with power Almighty, thou art fallen ! 

Baj. 'Tis false ! I am not fallen from aught I have been I 
At least, my soul resolves to keep her state, 
And scorns to make acquaintance with ill fortune. 
15 Tam. Almost beneath my pity art thou fallen ! 
To what vast heights had thy tumultuous temper 
Been hurried, if success had crowned thy wishes ! 
Say, what had I to expect, if thou hadst conquered ? 

Baj. Oh ! glorious thought ! Ye powers ! I will enjoy it, 
20 Though but in fancy : imagination shall 
Make room to entertain the vast idea. 
Oh ! had I been the master but of yesterday, 
The world, the world had felt me ; and for thee, 
I had used thee, as thou art to me, a dog, 
25 The object of my scorn and mortal hatred. 

I would have caged thee for the scorn of slaves. 
I would have taught thy neck to know my weight, 
And mounted from that footstool to the saddle : 
Till thou hadst begged to die ; and e'en that mercy 
30 I had denied thee. Now thou knowst my mind, 
And question me no farther. 

Tam. Well dost thou teach me 
What justice should exact from thee. Mankind, 
With one consent, cry out for vengeance on thee ; 
35 Loudly they call to cut off this league-breaker, 
This wild destroyer, from the face of earth. 

Baj. Do it, and rid thy shaking soul at once 
Of its worst fear. 

Tam. Why slept the thunder 
40 That should have armed the idol deity, 

And given thee power, ere yester sun was set. 
To shake the soul of Tamerlane ? Hadst thou an arm 
To make thee feared, thou shouldst have proved it on me, 
Amidst the sweat and blood of yonder field, 



WART H.] READER AND SPEAKER, 41? 

When, through the tumult of the war I soaght thee. 

Fenced in with nations. 
B&j. Oh ! blast the stars 

That fated us to different scenes of slaughter^ 
§ Oh i could my sword have met thee ! 
Tam, Thou hadst then, 

As now, been in my power, and held thy life 

Dependent on my gift. Yes, Bajazet, 

I bid thee live. S© much my soul disdains 
10 That thou shouldst think I can fear aught but Heaven. 

Nay, more ; couldst thorn forget thy brutal fierceness^ 

And form thyself to manhood, I would bid thee 

Live and be still a king, that thou mayst karn 

"What man should be to man :-— 
15 This royal tent, with such of thy domestics 

As can be found, shall wait upon thy service ; 

Nor will I use my fortune to demand 

Hard terms of peace ; but such as thou mayst effer 

With honor, I with honor may receive,, 



LESSON CCXXVIIL— AN INDEPENDENT JUDICIARY. JAMES A, 

BAYARD. 

Mr. Chairman, I am confident that the friends of this meas- 
ure are not apprized of the nature of its operation, nor 
sensible of the mischievous consequences which are likely 
to attend it. Sir, the morals of your people, the peace 
Q of the country, the stability of the government, rest upon 
the maintenance of the independence of the judiciary. It 
is not of half the importance in England, that the judges 
should be independent of the crown, as it is with us, that 
they should be independent of the legislature. Am I ask- 

10 ed. Would you render the judges superior to the legisla- 
ture ? I answer. No, but coordinate, ¥7ould you render 
them independent of the legislature ? I answer, Yes, in- 
dependent of every power on earth, while they behave 
themselves well. The essential interest, the permanent 

15 welfare of society, require this independence ; not, sir, on 
account of the judge ; that is a small consideration ; but on 
account of those between whom he is to decide. You cal- 
culate on the weaknesses of human nature, and you suffer 
the judge to be dependent on no one, lest he should be 

20 partial to those on whom he depends. Justice does not 
exist where partiality prevails, A dependent judge can- 



418 



AMERICAN COMMON- SCHOOL 



[part n. 



15 



20 



not be impartial. Independence is, therefore, essential to the 
purity of your judicial tribunals. 

Let it be remembered, that no power is so sensibly felt 
by society, as that of the judiciary. The life and property 
5 of every man, are liable to be in the hands of the judges. 
Is it not our great interest to place our judges upon such 
high ground, that no fear can intimidate, no hope seduce 
them? The present measure humbles them in the dust; 
it prostrates them at the feet of faction ; it renders them 

10 the tools of every dominant party. It is this effect which 
I deprecate ; it is this consequence which I deeply deplore. 
What does reason, what does argument avail, when party 
spirit presides ? Subject your bench to the iniSuence of 
this spirit, and justice bids a final adieu to your tribunals. 
We are asked, sir, if the judges are to be independent 
of the people. The question presents a false and delusive 
view. We are all the people. We are, and as long as 
we enjoy out freedom, we shall be, divided into par- 
ties. The true question is. Shall the judiciary be perma- 
nent, or fluctuate with the tide of public opinion ? I beg, 
I implore gentlemen to consider the magnitude and value 
of the principle which they are about to annihilate. If your 
judges are independent of political changes, they may have 
their preferences ; but they will not enter into the spirit of 

25 party. But let their existence depend upon the support of 
the power of a certain set of men, and they cannot be im- 
partial. Justice ivill be trodden under foot. Yonr courts 
will lose all public confidence and respect. 

The judges will be supported by their partisans, who, in 

30 their turn, will expect impunity for the wrongs and vio- 
lence they commit. The spirit of party will be inflamed to 
madness ; and the moment is not far off, when this fair 
country is to be desolated by a civil war. 

Do not say, that you render the judges dependent only 

35 on the people. You make them dependent on your pres- 
ident. This is his measure. • The same tide of public 
opinion which changes a president, will change the ma- 
jorities in the branches of the legislature. The legislature 
will be the instrument of his ambition ; and he will have 
the courts as the instrument of his vengeance. He uses 
the legislature to remove the judges, that he may appoint 
creatures of his own. In effect, the powers of the govern- 
ment will be concentrated in the hands of one man, who 
will dare to act with more boldness, because he will be 



40 



I 



PART IL] reader AND SPEAKER. 419 

sheltered from responsibility. The independence of the 
judiciary was the felicity of our constitution. It was this 
principle which was to curb the fury of party on sud- 
den changes. The first moments of power, gained by a 
5 struggle, are the most vindictive and intemperate. Raised 
above the storm, it was the judiciary which was to control 
the fiery zeal, and to quell the fierce passions of a victori- 
ous faction. 

We are standing on the brink of that revolutionary tor- 

10 rent which deluged in blood one of the fairest countries of 
Europe. 

France had her national assembly, more numerous, and 
equally popular with our own. She had her tribunals of 
justice, and her juries. But the legislature, and her courts. 

X5 were but the instruments of her destruction. Acts of 
proscription, and sentences of banishment and death, were 
passed in the cabinet of a tyrant. Prostrate your judges 
at the feet of party, and you break down the mounds 
which defend you from this torrent. I have done. I 

20 should have thanked my God for greater power to resist a 
measure, so destructive to the peace and happiness of the 
countr5^ My feeble efforts can avail nothing. But it 
was my duty to make them. The meditated blow is mor- 
tal, and from the moment it is struck, we may bid a final 

25 adieu to the constitution. 



LESSON CCXXIX. — ^^MEMORIALS OF WASHINGTON AND FRANK- 
LIN. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 

[From Mr. Adams' speech on the reception, by Congress, of the bat- 
tle sword of Washington, and the staff of Franklin.] 

The sword of Washington ! The staff of Franklin ! 
Oh ! sir, what associations are linked in adamant with these 
names ! Washington, whose sword, as my friend has said, 
was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and never 
5 sheathed when wielded in his country's cause ! Franklin, 
the philosopher of the thunderbolt, the printing-press, and 
the plough-share ! — What names are these in the scanty 
catalogue of the benefactors of human kind ! 

Washington and Franklin ! What other two men, 
10 whose lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christen- 
dom, have left a deeper impression of themselves upon the 
age in which they lived, and upon all after time ? 

Washington, the warrior and the legislator ! In war, con- 
tending, by the wager of battle, for the independence of his 



€20 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHGOZ. [PAST II. 

country, and for tlie freedom of the human race ; eyer man- 
ifesting, amidst its horrors, by precept and example, his 
reverence for the laws of peace, and for the tendeiest sym- 
pathies of humanity ; in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit 
5 of discord, among his own countrymen, into harmony and 
union ; and giving to that very sword, now presented to 
his country, a charm more potent than that attributed, in 
ancient times, to the lyre of Orpheus^ 

Franklin ! — The mechanic of his own fortune ; teach- 

10 ing, in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the 
way to wealth, and, in the shade of obscurity, the path to 
greatness ; in the maturity of manhood, disarming the 
thunder of its terrors, the lightning of its fatal blast ; and 
wresting from the tyrant's hand the still more effective 

15 sceptre of oppression : while descending into the vale of 
years, traversing the Atlantic ocean, braving, in the dead 
of winter, the battle and the breeze, bearing in his hand the 
charter of Independence, which he had contributed to form, 
and tendering, from the self-created nation, to the mighti- 

20 est monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the mer- 
curial wand of commerce, and the amulet of protection 
and safety to the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from 
the inexorable cruelty and merciless rapacity of war. 
And, finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore win- 

25 ters upon his head, under the torture of an incurable dis- 
ease, returning to his native land, closing his days as the 
chief magistrate of his adopted commonwealth, after con- 
tributing by his counsels, under the presidency of Wash- 
ington, and recording his name, under the sanction of de- 

30 vout prayer, invoked by him to God, to that Constitution 
under the authority of wbich we are here assembled, as 
the representatives of the North American people, to receive, 
in their name and for them, these venerable relics of the 
wise, the valiant, and the good founders of our great con- 

35 federated republic, — these sacred symbols of our golden 
age. May they be deposited among the archives of our 
government ! and every American, who shall hereafter be- 
hold them, ejaculate a mingled offering of praise to that 
Supreme Ruler of tbe Universe, by whose tender mercies 

40 our Union has been hitherto preserved, through all the 
vicissitudes and revolutions of this turbulent world, — and 
of prayer for the continuance of these blessings, by the dis- 
pensations of Providence, to our beloved country, from age 
to age, till time shall be no more ! 



-PAUT n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 421 

LESSON CCXXX. DIALOGUE FROM HENRY IV. Shokspcare, 

[Northumberland, Worcester, and Hotspur.] 

Hot. Speak of Mortimer ? 
Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
Want mercy, if I do not join with him : 
Yea, on his part, I '11 empty all these veins, 
5 And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust, 
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
As high in the air as this unthankful king, 
As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke. [To Worcester. 
North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. 
10 Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone ? 
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; 
And when I urged the ransom once again 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek looked pale ; 
And on my face he turned an eye of death, 
15 Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

Wor. I cannot blame him : Was he not proclaimed, 
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood ? 

North. He was : I heard the proclamation : 
And then it was, when the unhappy king 
20 (Whose wrongs in us God pardon !) did set forth 
Upon his Irish expedition ; 
From whence he, intercepted, did return 
To be deposed, and shortly murdered. 

Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide mouth 
25 Live scandalized, and foully spoken of. 

Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; Did king Richard then 
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
Heir to the crown ? 

North. He did ; myself did hear it. 
30 Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, 
That wished him on the barren mountains starved. 
But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown 
Upon the head of this forgetful man ; 
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot 
35 Of murderous subornation, — shall it be, 
That you a world of curses undergo ; 
Being the agents, or base second means, 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather? 
Oh! pardon me, that I descend so low, 
40 To show the line, and the predicament. 

Wherein you range under this subtle king. — 
36 



422 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, 
Or fill up chronicles in lime to come, 
That men of yoar nobility and power, 
Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf, — 
5 As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, — 
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke ? 
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken, 
That you are fooled, discarded, and shook oflT 

10 By him, for whom these shames ye underwent? 
No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
Your banished honors, and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the Avorld again : 
Revenge the jeering and disdained contempt 

15 Of this proud king, who studies, day and night, 
To answer all the debt he owes to you. 
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. 

Therefore, I say, 

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more : 

20 And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, 
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud, 

25 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good night : — or sink or swim : — 
Send danger from the east unto the west, 
So honor cross it from the north to south, 
And let them grapple ; — Oh ! the blood more stirs, 

30 To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. 

North. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 

Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap 
To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon ; 

85 Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 

Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
And pluck up drowned honor by the locks; 
So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear. 
Without corrival, all her dignities : 

40 But out upon this half-faced fellowship ! 

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here. 
But not the form of what he should attend. — 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 
Hot. I cry you mercy. 



M 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 423 

Wor. Those same noble Scots, 
That are your prisoners, 

Hot. I '11 keep them all ; 
By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them ; 
5 No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : 
I '11 keep them, by this hand. 

Wor. You start away, 
And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 
10 Hot. Nay, I will ; that 's flat :— 

He said, he would not ransom Mortimer; 
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
But I will find him, when he lies asleep, 
And in his ear I '11 holla — Mortimer ! 
15 Nay, 

I '11 have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, 
To keep his anger still in motion. 

Wor. Hear you, 
20 Cousin ; a word. 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy. 
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke : 
And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales, — 
But that I think his father loves him not, 
25 And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
I 'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale. 

Wor. Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you, 
When you are better tempered to attend. 

North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool 
30 Art thou, to break into this woman's mood ; 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own? 

Hot. Why, look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods, 
Nettled, and stung with pismires,"^ when I hear 
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
' 35 In Richard's time, — What do you call the place ? — 
A plague upon 't ! — it is in Gloucestershire ; — 
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept; 
His uncle York ; — where I first bowed my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
40 When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 

North. At Berkley castle. 

Hot. You say true : 

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 

* Pronounced pizmire. 



424 



AJIERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part II. 



This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 
Look, — when his infant fortune came to age, 
And, — gentle Harry Percy, — and kind cousin, — 
Oh, the devil take such cozeners ! — God forgive me 
Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 



LESSON CCXXXL THE LOVE OF TRUTH. GEORGE PUTNAM. 

Truth is the one legitimate object of all intellectual 
endeavor. To discover and apprehend truth, to clear up 
and adorn it, to establish, and present, and commend it, — 
these are the processes and the ends of study and litera- 
5 ture. To discern the things that really are, and hov^^ they 
are, to distinguish reality from appearance and sham, to 
know and declare the true in outward nature, in past 
time, in the results of speculation, in consciousness and 
sentiment, — this is the business of educated mind. Logic 

10 and the mathematics are instruments for this purpose, and 
so is the imagination just as strictly. A poem, a play^ a 
novel, though a work of fiction, must be true, or it is 
a failure. Its machinery may be unknown to the actual 
world; the scene may be laid in Elysian fields, or infernal 

15 shades, or fairy land ; but the law of truth must preside 
over the work; it must be the vehicle of truth, or it is 
nought, and is disallowed. The Tempest, the Odyssey, 
and Paradise Lost, derive their value from their truth ; 
and I say this, not upon utilitarian principles, but accord- 

20 ing to the verdict which every true soul passes upon them, 
consciously or unconsciously. Lofty, holy truth, made 
beautiful and dear and winning to the responsive heart, — 
this is their charm, their wealth, their immortality. There 
is no permanent intellectual success but in truth attained 

25 and brought home to the eye, the understanding, or the 
heart. 

And for the best success in the pursuit of any object, 
there must be a love of the object itself The student, the 
thinker, the author, who is true to his vocation, loves the 

30 truth which he would develop and embody. Not for 
bread, not for fame, primarily, he works. These things 
may come, and are welcome ; but truth is higher and 
dearer than these. Great things have been done for bread 
and fame, but not the greatest. Plato, pacing the silent 

35 groves of the academy, and Newton, sitting half a day on 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 4^5 

his bedside, undressed, and his fast unbroken, rapt in a 
problem of fluxions ; Dante solacing the bitterness of exile 
with the meditations that live in the Commedia, and Bacon 
taking his death chill in an experiment to test the pre- 
5 serving qualities of snow; Cuvier, a lordlier Adam than 
he of Eden, naming the whole animal world in his 
museum, and reading the very thoughts of God after him 
in their wondrous mechanism ; Franklin and Davy wrest- 
ing the secrets of nature from their inmost hiding-place ; 

10 Linnaeus studying the flora of the arctic circle in loco ; 
and that fresh old man who startles the clefts of the Rocky 
Mountains with his rifle, to catch precisely the lustrous 
tints of beauty in the plumage of a bird ; — these men, and 
such as they, love truth, and are consecrate, hand and 

15 heart, to her service. The truth, as she stands in God's 
doings, or in man's doings, or in those thoughts and affec- 
tions that have neither form nor speech, but which answer 
from the deep places of the soul, — truth, as seen in her 
sublimities or her beauties, in her world-poising might or 

20 her seeming trivialities, — truth, as she walks the earth 
embodied in visible facts, or moves among the spheres in 
the mysterious laws that combine a universe and spell it 
to harmony, or as she sings in the upper heavens the inar- 
ticulate wisdom which only a profound religion in the soul 

25 can interpret, — truth, in whichsoever of her myriad mani- 
festations, she has laid hold of their noble affinities, and 
brought their being into holy captivity; — such men have 
loved her greatly and fondly ; the soul of genius is always 
pledged to her in a single-hearted and sweet affiance, or 

30 else it is genius baffled, blasted, and discrowned. 



LESSON CCXXXII. ENERGY OF THE WILL. THOMAS C. TJPHAM. 

A higher degree of voluntary power, than is allotted to 
the great mass of mankind, seems to be requisite in those, 
who are destined to take a leading part in those great 
moral, religious, and political revolutions, which have from 
time to time agitated the face of the world. It is no easy 
task to change the opinions of men, to check and subdue 
vices which have become prevalent, or tx) give a new aspect 
and impulse to religion and liberty. The men who take a 
lead in these movements, are in general men of decision 
86^ 



426 



AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 



[part n. 



and firmness ; no others would answer the purpose. If 
the gentle spirit of Melancthon had been placed in the pre- 
cise position occupied by Luther, would the great event of 
the Protestant reformation have been urged forward with 
5 the same impetus, and to the same issues ? 

When society becomes greatly unsettled either in its 
religious or political aspects, when there is a heaving and 
tossing to and fro, a removal of the old land-marks, and a 
breaking up of the old foundations, then it is, that men, 

10 not merely of intellect, but of decision and energy, (saga- 
cious, cool, decided, persevering, resolute,) find their way 
upward to the summit of the conflicting elements, and 
subject them to their guidance. Such is the natural 
course of things ; such men are needed, and no others 

15 are capable of taking their places ; and they become, almost 
of necessity, the advisers and leaders in the nascent order 
of society. The prominent leaders, therefore, in every 
great religious or political revolution, will be found to illus- 
trate the fact, that there are original and marked differences 

20 in the degree of power which is appropriate to the will. 

Look at the men who presided at the events of the gTeat 
English Revolution of 1640, particularly the Puritans ; m.en 
of the stamp of the Vanes, Hampdens, and Fleetwoods ; 
who, in embarking in the convulsions of that stormy period, 

25 had a two-fold object in view, the security of political lib- 
erty, and the attainment of religious freedom ! Were they 
weak men ? Were they men wanting in fortitude ? Were 
they uncertain and flexible, vacillating and douhle-minded? 
History gives an emphatic answer to these questions. It 

30 informs us, that they entered into the contest for the great 
objects just now referred to, with a resolution which noth- 
ing could shake, with an immutability of purpose resem- 
bling the decrees of unalterable destiny. They struck for 
liberty and religion, and they struck not thrice merely, but 

35 as the prophet of old would have had them ; smiting many 
times, and smiting fiercely, till Syria was consumed. They 
broke in pieces the throne of England ; they trampled un- 
der foot her ancient and haughty aristocracy ; they erected 
the standard of religious liberty, which has waved ever 

40 since, and has scattered its healing light over distant 
lands ; and, by their wisdom and energy, they not only 
overthrew the enemies of freedom at home, but made the 
name of their country honored and terrible throughout the 
earth. They seem to have entirely subjected their passions 



PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 427 

to their purposes, and to have pressed all the exciting and 
inflammable elements of their nature, into the service of 
their fixed and immutable wills. 

In the prosecution of their memorable achievements, 

5 " Of which all Europe talked from side to side," 

they acted under the two-fold pressure of motives drawn 
from heaven and earth ; they felt as if they were contend- 
ing for principles which were valuable to all mankind, and 
as if all mankind were witnesses of the contest; at the 

10 same time that they beheld on every side, in the quickened 
eye of their faith, the attendant angels eagerly bending 
over them, who were soon to transfer, to the imperishable 
records on high, the story of their victory and reward, or 
of their defeat and degradation. 

15 All these things imparted additional fixedness and in- 
tensity to their purposes. " Death had lost its terrors, and 
pleasure, its charms. They had their smiles and their 
tears, their raptures and their sorrows, but not for the 
things of this world. Enthusiasm had made them Stoics, 

20 had cleared their minds from every vulgar passion and 
prejudice, and raised them above the influence of danger 
and corruption. It sometimes might lead them to pursue 
unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means. They 
went through the world, like Sir Artegale's iron man Talus 

25 with his flail, crushing and trampling down oppressors, 
mingling with human beings, but having neither part nor 
lot in human infirmities ; insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, 
and to pain ; not to be pierced by any weapon, not to be 
withstood by any barrier." 



LESSON CCXXXIII. THE SCHOLAR'S MISSION. GEORGE PUTNAM. 

The wants of our time and country, the constitution of our 
modern society, our whole position, — personal and relative, 
— forbid a life of mere scholarship or literary pursuits, to the 
great majority of those who go out from our colleges. How- 
5 ever it may have been in other times, and other lands, here 
and now, but few of our educated men are privileged 

" From the loopholes of retreat 
To look upon the world, to hear the sound 
Of the great Babel, and not feel its stir." 

10 Society has work for us, and we must forth to do it. 



428 



COMBION-SCHOOL READER AND SPEAKER. [PART 11. 



Full early and hastily we must gird on the manly gown, 
gather up the loose leaves and scanty fragments of oar 
youthful lore, and go out among men, to act with them and 
for them. It is a practical age ; and our Wisdom, such as 
5 it is, " must strive and cry, and utter her voice in the streets, 
standing in the places of the paths, crying in the chief place 
of concourse, at the entry of the city, and the coming in at 
the doors." 

This state of things, though not suited to the tastes and 

10 qualities of all, is not, on the whole, to be regretted by ed- 
ucated men as such. It is not in literary production only, 
or chiefly, that educated mind finds fit expression, and ful- 
fils its mission in honor and beneficence. In the great 
theatre of the world's afTairs, there is a worthy and a sufii- 

15 cient sphere. Society needs the well-trained, enlarged, 
and cultivated intellect of the scholar, in its midst; needs 
it, and welcomes it, and gives it a place, or, by its own ca- 
pacity, it will take a place, of honor, influence, and power. 
The youthful scholar has no occasion to deplore the fate 

20 that is soon to tear him from his studies, and cast him into 
the swelling tide of life and action. None of his disci- 
plinary and enriching culture will be lost, or useless, even 
there. Every hour of study, every truth he has reached, 
and the toilsome process by which he reached it ; the 

25 heightened grace or vigor of thought or speech he has 
acquired, — all shall tell fully, nobly, if he will give heed 
to the conditions. And one condition, the prime one, is, 
that he be a true man, and recognize the obligation of a 
man, and go forth with heart, and will, and every gift and 

30 acquirement dedicated, lovingly and resolutely, to the true 
and the right. These are the terms; and apart from these 
there is no success, no influence to be had, which an in- 
genuous mind can desire, or which a sound and far-seeing 
mind would dare to seek. 

35 Indeed, it is not an easy thing, nay, it is not a possible 
thing, to obtain a substantial success, and an abiding influ- 
ence, except on these terms. A factitious popularity, a 
transient notoriety, or, in the case of shining talents, the 
doom of a damning fame, may fall to bad men. But an 

40 honored name, enduring influence, a sun brightening on 
through its circuit, more and more, even to its serene set- 
ting, — this boon of a true success goes never to intellectual 
qualities alone. It gravitates slowly but surely to weight 
of character, to intellectual ability rooted in principle. 



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